


Pieces

by PortalPanda



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, long fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-01-21 08:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 114,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12453615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PortalPanda/pseuds/PortalPanda
Summary: Wheatley falls from space and GLaDOS returns him to Aperture to punish him. To show Wheatley what he put Chell through, She transfers him into a human body and dumps him on the surface to fend for himself. After seeing him fall, Chell drags Wheatley back to her home. There Wheatley has to work towards Chell's forgiveness and friendship, all while learning what it means to be human.Note: Some chapters towards the beginning aren't in chronological order.





	1. 2 a.m.

Chell stirred lightly as somewhere in the house a clock struck two. 

She blinked, blearily taking in her surroundings as her senses came back to life. There was a chill in the early morning air, and thick, muffled winter silence filled the room.

 Well... Almost.

 Soft snoring could be heard from behind her, where her companion was curled up in a ball, lightly pressed against her back in an attempt to keep warm. 

Chell smiled as she turned to see Wheatley snuggled up against her, sleeping soundly with a light smile on his face. Had he known that Chell was awake, or had Wheatley been awake himself, he would have scrambled away from her so quickly that he likely would have thrown himself off the bed. But he wasn't awake, and he was very, very close to her. 

 Earlier on in their relationship (aka after he had been thrown back into her nice quiet life by a sassy homicidal supercomputer), Wheatley would have received a hearty knuckle sandwich for being within ten feet of Chell, but, strangely, his closeness didn't bother her. 

 Not that she had initiated it.

 About a week or so ago there had been a terrible thunder storm that had sent the sleeping man next to her whimpering outside her door like a lost puppy. Chell couldn't take it for longer than five minutes and had let him in. He had been sleeping in Chell's room since, and, oddly enough, she didn't really mind. 

 This time of year the morning air was sharp and frigid, after all, this was winter in the upper peninsula of Michigan: it was brutally cold. But Wheatley was like a little furnace, and when he cuddled up next to her in that slightly annoying yet strangely adorable way (like he was doing now), it made the world seem a little less cold. There was no harm in letting him sleep in here with her. 

 With one more smile towards the sleeping man next to her Chell burrowed back down into her nest of blankets and snuggled up against him.

  
  



	2. Stone

Wheatley blinked and recoiled into the corner of the couch as Chell suddenly appeared in front of him. He had been half asleep and she had scared the living daylight out of him, so of course his natural reaction was to yelp like a frightened dog. 

"AH! Oh, it's just- it's you!" Wheatley gave a nervous laugh, gingerly looking up at her and trying to ignore the uninterested expression she wore. "Don't scare me like that, lady! Er, please? It's not very n- I mean, um, I would greatly appreciate it if you did not sneak up on me in the silent darkness when I am attempting to rechar- Um- Sleep. Yes. Please don't do that again." 

Something about the look that Chell was giving him told him that she would likely make it a point to do that again.

She was standing stock still, tense, erect, and using every inch she had on him (while he was sitting down) to her advantage. Her grey eyes were bright and alert, glinting with the dangerous determined sparkle that he had become familiar with during their days in the facility. Only this time it wasn't directed at Her, it was directed at him. 

Wheatley's nervous smile melted away. 

A few days ago Chell had rescued him from Aperture after She had brought him back from space and ripped- and transferred him into a human body. At the time Wheatley had been relieved (and exhausted, and in pain, and scared out if his mind), thinking that Chell saving him meant that she forgave him... but now he wasn't so sure. 

While it was true that Chell had rescued him from Her and given him a place to stay, she was also being very distant towards him. In the past few days, the ex-test subject had tended to his cuts and bruises, brought him food and water, and even helped him around the house (as he hadn't yet mastered the art of walking), but she hadn't once looked him in the eye. She wouldn't stay in the same room with him for longer than a meal (and Wheatley got the feeling that she only stayed that long because she was afraid he might choke to death otherwise).

Now was a perfect example. 

Chell was towering over him, avoiding eye contact and making no attempt to reply to anything he said. She looked tired, as if he was trying her patience- yet she was offering him something. Wheatley had been so busy trying to make small talk and stay on her good side (two things he could rarely accomplish st the same time) that he hadn't even noticed the thing that brought her over to him in the first place. 

In her arms she held a pillow and a blanket, both of which looked very soft and much more comfortable than the bony hand he had been propping himself up with earlier. 

He blinked up at her in surprise when he noticed the offerings, and, with her watching him, carefully took them.

"Um...Thank you." Wheatley attempted to look as small and grateful as possible. "These are nice. Definitely much better than my hand." He gave a nervous chuckle then, shaking out his sore wrist. "I should be able to make a very comfortable, er, bed, sleeping nest, thing, with these. Nice and toasty. So, um. Thank you."

Chell gave what might have been a microscopic nod before she took the offerings back, gently prying them out of his hands and arranging them for him. She propped the pillow up against the arm of the couch, lightly pressed down on his chest until he put two and two together and later down, and then drapped the quilt over top of him. His eyelids dropped instantly (Wheatley had had a crazy week and Chell knew that he had to be tired) as he burrowed down into the blanket.

She began to make her way towards the light on the other side of the room

"I- I don't understand you." Chell paused, forgetting about the light that needed to be switched off and instead turning back to Wheatley. "You hate me. I know you hate me. I stabbed y-you in the back, and-and punched you down an elevator shaft, and t-tested you, and screamed at you. I tried to kill you." Chell pretended that she couldn't hear his voice cracking as she gave the lamp across the room a hard stare. "I-I tried to kill you, and you can't stand to look at me- can't stand to even be in the same room as me- and I know that you hate me." 

Even Wheatley could hear how tired he sounded. 

"So why am I here?" His eyes and throat were beginning to burn as if they were trying to tell him to stop talking but he couldn't. The words were just spilling out. "Why are you tending to me like some-some injured little fledgling if you can't even stand the sight of me? Why did you bring me here? Why did you save me from Her? You don't forgive me. You hate me. So why are you doing all of this?" 

Wheatley wanted to cry but he couldn't. Instead, he buried his face down into the pillow in a poor attempt to hide from Chell. He was just so tired of hurting and being guilty and confused. He wished that he could do something right for once instead of being so useless. Wheatley was sick of himself, he knew that Chell had to be sick of him too.

Through the muffled silence of his pillow, Wheatley heard soft footsteps padding through the carpet and across the room. The lamp turned off with a quiet click and darkness spilled across the room. A moment later he felt a cool hand resting on his cheek. 

They both tensed at the contact, Wheatley suspecting that this was a gesture that was supposed to be much more comforting than it actually was. Her hand then moved to his hair, running soothingly through his soft auburn curls. His anger subsidised and he began to fall asleep.

Chell slowly rose from her crouched position beside the couch, just as confused as Wheatley. In all honesty, she didn't know why she had brought him back with her. Part of her had thought that he deserved whatever She wanted to do to him, but the other part of her hadn't been able to leave him there. Chell was caught at a bit of a stalemate with herself: she didn't want to be mean to Wheatley, but she wasn't ready to forgive him either. Chell had no idea what to do with him. 

She watched him for a moment as she stood, taking in how innocent he looked in his sleep. 

_ 'Looks can be deceiving.'  _

Chell started to make her way towards the door when she was stopped yet again. She looked down to see that a bony hand had lightly captured her wrist. Apparently, Wheatley hadn't been asleep after all.

His bright blue eyes (which almost seemed to glow in the darkness) gave her a thoroughly broken, pleading look. 

"I don't deserve this."

Chell's only response was to take her arm back and leave him alone in the darkness.


	3. Lost Scene

 Chell slowed to a walk as the core above her suddenly stopped dead in its tracks. She had quickly gotten used to Wheatley's dramatic habits but this had caught her a bit off guard. She hoped nothing was wrong.  

  The blue opticed core swiveled around and looked down at her with an expression of mild concern. "Are you alright?"

 She gave a soft huff of laughter, a ghost of a smile crossing her face as she shook her head. 

  Was  _ she _ alright? Wasn't he the one who had stopped dead in his tracks as though he had seen an army of turrets aiming at him? She gave him a dubious look, her grey eyes sparkling with fond amusement as his iris darted around the room.

 "Oh, yeah, I know," Wheatley started with a roll of his optic, "You're all big and tough and strong- nothing scares you." He wagged his lower handle at her for emphasis. "But I've been watching you and- I've gotta say- I think I'm getting pretty good at reading you. Because, you know. You can't talk." 

 Chell gave him a look that seemed to say,  _ 'Can't I?'  _

 "Nope. You can't. Brain damage. Sorry." The british core said hastily. "But, my point is, I think I'm getting pretty good at reading your expressions and all that, and, and you're acting weird. Different." He couldn't help but notice that she glanced away when he tried to look her in the eye.

Wheatley wagged his handle at her again as his voice turned sly. "That's right, lady. Little ole' Wheatley can read you like a book. No, better than a book. More like, like a pamphlet. Or maybe one of those brochure things they used to keep down in the lobby." His optic gave a soft  _ 'plink plink' _ as he paused to think for a moment before springing back into animation like a hyperactive puppet. "ARG! Distracted, right! But my point is, you are acting different, missy. You're acting like something is wrong. When, in fact, nothing is wrong. To my knowledge, at least." 

 Chell crossed her arms (as well as she could while still holding the portal gun) as the core cautiously surveyed the room, his iris shrinking and turning a lighter shade of blue. Damaging his confidence (not that she had meant to) was about as easy as kicking over a sandcastle. Wheatley's previous expression of haughty amusement now melted into one of nervous fear.

"Come to think of it though... is something wrong?" The core didn't do a very good job of hiding the fear that was slipping into his voice. "I mean, I'm sure nothing is wrong. I would definetly, probably know if something was wrong. We should be safe back here... but, um, if something is in fact wrong, please tell me." 

 Wheatley gave her a blank, expectant look as she examined the floor.

 Chell wanted to laugh, to give him a gentle pat on the hull and a smile that told him that he was panicking over nothing. She wanted to... but she couldn't.

 Wheatley was right. Chell was acting different, and something was wrong. The only problem was that she didn't really know  _ what _  was wrong. All she knew was that ever since they had left the turret production lines, she had had this terrible.... foreboding feeling. Like something terrible was about to happen to one of them.

 The test subject had tried to pass it off as paranoia and keep an optimistic façade for Wheatley's sake, but he had somehow found the holes in her disguise and now it was beginning to unravel. 

 Chell pressed her lips into a thin frown as she looked up at Wheatley.

 "Oh no, something really is wrong, isn't it?" She was surprised to hear that he sounded more concerned (for her) than panicked. "What is it? Are you alright?"

 Chell did manage a light smile at that. No one had expressed concern for her well being in very long time before she had met Wheatley, and hearing that someone cared about her made something warm blossom in her chest. It helped make some of her fear fade away.  

 She looked up at him with the same smile and waved his questions away. 

_ 'I'm fine.'   _

 "Are you sure? Nothing is wrong?" He gave her a look that she thought was probably supposed to look scrutinizing, but ended up looking more like his shudder had gotten stuck in some strange squinting expression. Wheatley didn't do serious very well.

 Chell shook her head again, this time a little more slowly as something in her stomach started to hurt at watching him. 

 Wheatley would be fine. He was doing a (surprisingly) good job of keeping her safe and away from Her, and they were both okay and they were going to escape together. Period.

 Unfortunately, she couldn't even convince herself of that. Much less the core in front of her. 

 "Aw, c'mon, love. You can tell good ole' Wheatley anything. You can trust me, I promise."  He gave her one of those bright, happy, reassuring Wheatley looks that always managed to push through her wall of armor. 

 Chell sighed and sat her portal gun down on the ground. With both of her hands now free, she returned her attention to the core and began to slowly try and motion to him. 

 "Um, you?" Wheatley guessed as she pointed to herself. Chell gave a little nod, then pointed down the other end of the corridor they were in. "You... there?

 She nodded, pointing back at the same place and shaking her head.

 "You don't want to go there? You don't want to go that way?" His optic brightened a bit as she nodded again, then pressed a hand over her heart.

 "You don't want to go... because... you... are....... choking?" Here Chell's previous concerned and uncomfortable expression transformed into one of amusement. She pressed her lips together in a poor attempt to keep from laughing. 

 Wheatley was too relieved to notice.

"No? Okay, that's good! Because, being completely honest here: I don't think I could have done anything about that. And that would have been bad." 

 He didn't understand what she found so funny about that.

 "Okay, serious! You don't want to go because... your chest hurts? Oh God, you aren't having one of those, one of those heart attack things, are you?"

 Chell shook her head again, this time wearing an expression that was a little more annoyed.

_ 'Why are you trying so hard to kill me off here?' _

 "No? Stop scaring me lady!" Wheatley rolled his optic around as Chell gave an annoyed huff of laughter. "Alright, one more. Just give me one more guess. You don't want to go because you... have... a.. bad..... feeling?" Chell blinked in surprise and gave a little nod. She hadn't really expected him to guess right.

"Oh! I actually got it right! Not-Not that I thought that I  _ couldn't _  guess what it was, I, I knew what it was all along. I was just, just testing you." 

_  Testing you. _

  Something about that phrase made the smile fade from Chell's face. 

 "But, but anyways, you really don't have anything to worry about." Wheatley gave her a look that she thought was supposed to look reassuring."We're perfectly safe back here- the only thing she can touch is the lights, and since I've got my trusty flashlight (which will not kill me), that's not a problem. 

 "And... we've already disabled the turrets, so those shouldn't bother you. 'Probably don't have to worry... about being shot to death any time soon. So that's, that's good, right?

 "All that leaves is escaping! Don't worry about that, love! We've got it in the bag! With my hacking, and your, button pushing and, and problem solving skills. She doesn't stand a chance against us! We'll be out of here in no time. Both of us."

 Chell gave a hard swallow, forcing a smile and gently cupping the side of Wheatley's hull. The core made a happy little sound and snuggled into her hand like a kitten, oblivious to the heartbroken look on her face. By the time he looked back up it was gone.

 He gave her another one of those happy, affectionate Wheatley looks and nuzzled into her palm. "Don't worry so much, love. We can do this. All you have to do is trust me, and we'll be out of here in no time. You can do that, can't you?" 

 Chell gave the core a fake smile and a little nod. She hoped that she was right.


	4. Hunger

Wheatley was dying. 

His every movement hurt, he was exhausted even though he had slept through most of the day, and his stomach was absolutely killing him. The pain was ten times worse than any of the artificial stuff he had experienced as a core, and it hurt like someone had their hand inside of his stomach in an attempt to flip it inside out. 

Wheatley was dying a slow, terrible death, and to top it all off, the lady was laughing at him. 

She had delayed her trip into the living room for a very long time (30 whole minutes), not being too keen on seeing him again for obvious reasons. Eventually she had poked her head in to see if he was awake, or maybe, if she was lucky he was sleeping and she too could return to bed (Chell was by no means a lazy person, but she was still tired from luging a half conscious Wheatley all the way from Aperture the day prior). Unfortunately for her, Wheatley was awake, and he spotted her peeking into the room before she had time to retreat. 

"Lady!" He sprung up from his slouched position the second he saw her, his voice sounding half thrilled and half terrified. "Somethings wrong! Everything hurts, and my stomach keeps making these weird noises.... I think.. I think She gave me a defective body or something!" Here Wheatley flopped backwards against the couch like a flailing back like a fish. "I'm dying!" 

Here his stomach gave a loud growl as if to agree.

Chell glanced in his direction with a look that was a mix of sympathy, amusement, and annoyance. Wheatley wasn't dying; he was hungry and dramatic. They had gotten home late the night before, and Chell had been so relieved and exhausted that she had simply dumped Wheatley on the couch and gone to bed. Now she realized that he hadn't eaten since he'd been in her custody (which had been about a day now), and Chell wondered if he had eaten at all since the transfer. 

Something told her that She probably hadn't fed him a three course meal before dumping him on the surface to starve to death.

With that thought her amused expression faded, but not before Wheatley could see it. 

"Did you-Are you-Did you just- Are you laughing at me?" Chell glanced in his direction with a now somber expression, shaking her head to the side. "Yes! You-Ow!" His blue eyes gave her a pitiful look as he slumped back in pain. "You laughed at me! That's terrible, lady! I would never laugh at you if you were dy-" At that Chell's expression sprang from light sympathy to a dubious scowl. Wheatley gave a nervous chuckle as he realized his mistake, raising his hands in surrender.

"Um, bad example. Wait! Where are you going?" 

_ 'I'm going to find you something to eat before you further convince me to let you sit there and starve to death.'  _ Chell thought with gritted teeth. He certainly wasn't helping his own case. 

She gave a strained sigh as she entered the kitchen and tried to think of something Wheatley could eat without chocking on or spitting it out. 

_ 'Huh. This might be harder than I thought.'  _

He was so terribly thin, hardly anything more than skin and bones (and a mop of very dirty, tangled red hair that she wasn't ready to deal with quite yet). Chell herself remembered how awful it had been living off of nothing but adrenaline vapor and assumed that Wheatley had experienced the same during his short second stay at the facility. At least in her case she'd had some meat on her bones before her stasis and testing (not that she was fat); Wheatley looked as though he hadn't even had that, and Chell wondered how long it had been since he'd actually eaten anything. If he didn't get a little meat on his bones soon, her reactions to his thoughtless comments would be the least of his problems.

Chell snapped out of her thoughts and strode to the refrigerator, opening the door and grabbing a bottle of water. After a brief wrestling match yesterday, she had gotten Wheatley to drink. He had been terrified, screaming about how water would make him explode and she was trying to kill him (Thankfully for both of them she hadn't been trying to kill him and no one had been around to hear him scream), but once Chell had gotten some water down his throat (and he had finished choking) he quickly realized that he liked it, and needed it, and finished off the rest of the bottle. 

Chell placed the water on the table. Wheatley could drink; now she needed to get him to eat. 

It was time for breakfast, but Chell didn't want to feed him anything too rich (the last thing she needed was to have to clean Wheatley throw up off her carpet) and giving him anything hard was practically giving him an invitation to choke to death. 

_ 'Cereal, pancakes, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, eggs, potatoes, fruit....' _

"Say apple!" 

At that memory a small smile flashed across her face, though it was hidden from Wheatley by the kitchen wall and Chell was glad he didn't see it. 

_ 'I could give him an apple but he'd probably choke on it.' _ Chell bounced on her toes as she thought, then reopened the fridge as she got an idea. Moments later she returned to the living room with the water bottle and two small containers in hand. 

Wheatley gave her a sheepish smile as she reappeared from the kitchen. "Erm, thank you."

Chell gave him the water first and he drank about half of that in one swig. She was just happy she wasn't going to have to force it down his throat like yesterday.

Next she handed him the container and a spoon, attempting to keep it level so he wouldn't spill it all over her couch. 

"Um... Thank you very much for getting me something to eat- I'm very grateful- that you went and got me food... but, what exactly... is this? It looks kind of... gross."

_ 'First you wake me up begging for food, then you don't even want to eat the food I bring you?' _

He seemed to notice her annoyed expression and quickly backtracked. "But, you know what? I think I'll try it anyways." 

Wheatley at least seemed to remember how eating worked, as he scooped up a spoonful of food and popped it into his mouth. His expression changed from hesitance to happiness."That's... actually pretty good." He popped another spoonful into his mouth. "What is it?"

Chell didn't respond (she kind of doubted that he'd expected her to), she simply turned back to the kitchen to make some breakfast for herself. She shook her head and smiled as she watched him eat.

_ 'Say apple.' _


	5. Correspondence

Wheatley was going to have to learn how to walk. 

Chell had been helping him around the house when necessary, but he had been here for over a week now and all he had done in all that time was sit on the couch. She knew that he was bored out of his skull (a bored Wheatley is a dangerous Wheatley) and he needed to learn how to get around on his own. She wasn't going to baby Wheatley forever; he needed to be more independent. 

He also needed to stop hogging her couch.

It wasn't going to be easy: Wheatley was clumsy, and awkward, and his sense of balance was practically nonexistent, but Chell did enjoy a challenge. She was every bit as determined as he was hopeless, and if she could teach him to get around on his own it would make things a lot easier for both of them. All it would take was a little bit of correspondence and they would be done in no time.

Chell decided that there was no time like the present. That morning she strode into the living room with her usual air of confidence, stopping in front of Wheatleys' place on the couch and looking down at him with her arms crossed.

"Uh oh." He didn't even know what she wanted but he could tell that there was going to be trouble."Did I, am I in trouble? Not that I want- I don't  _ want  _ to be in trouble- and I- I realize that I'm  _ in trouble _ from, well, from the last, er, thing, but, am I in,  _ new _ trouble?" Chell gave him a funny look. "It's just because, you, you've got that  _ look _ . You know the one? The one you gave Her sometimes- not the angry one- but the other one. The, um, I'm-about-to-break-something-that's-really-expensive-and-I'm-excited-about-it, look." 

Chell gave a devilish little smile.  _ 'I do enjoy wreaking havoc.' _

"Oh God." Wheatley tried his best to scramble away from her, but, considering that he couldn't walk, he didn't really have anywhere to scramble away  _ to _ . Before he knew it Chell had hoisted him onto his feet and was dragging him into the kitchen.

"What- What are you doing?" Whatever this was, it vaguely reminded him of when she tried to help him walk; although if that were the case, she was deciding where he wanted to go instead of him. "Okay, um, are you trying to pick me up, or something? Because, I know that worked back when I, when I was a core, but, um, I don't think that'll work anymore. Not- not that I'm saying that you're weak or, or anything! I'm not saying that at all! You're the strongest human I've ever met. The, the bravest, too. I just- I don't understand what you're doing."

Chell stopped at the end of his monologue and plopped him down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table.

"Oh, um, you want me to eat?" She shook her head to the side, standing up and making a point of bracing herself against the table. Then she pointed to him. "No? You want me to... you want me to stand?"

At that she gave a nod and another little mischievous smile.  _ 'Bingo.' _

"Okay... um, I'm sure you're already aware of this, but, I tried this whole 'standing' thing earlier, and it, it didn't work out too well. So, if it's all the same to you, I think I'm gonna pass. Thank you, though."

Chell was aware of his previous attempt to stand up. She had been in her room, on the other side of the house, and she had still heard his scream as clear as a whistle. He had only screamed because he's scared himself when he fell. Hurt feelings aside, he was fine. 

Wheatley would be fine now, too. He just needed to stop being scared and dramatic. Besides, even if he didn't want to try and learn to walk, it wasn't like he could go anywhere else without her taking him there.

_ 'You can't get back to the couch without my help.'  _ Chell thought smugly.

"Oh... wait a second." Wheatleys' blue eyes widened as he realized his dilemma. The return of Chells' devious smile didn't help calm his panic. "Wait, lady- Chell- wait, please? I don't- I can't do this. I'm going to fall, and then I'll hurt myself, and then I could die! I don't want to die! You- you don't want me to die! Do you?" He visibly cringed after the words had left his mouth, wincing and cautiously peeking back up at her. "Actually- on second thought- maybe you shouldn't answer that."

Chell huffed out a sigh and crossed her arms.  _ 'Wheatley. I don't hate you; you're not going to die. Stop being so dramatic.' _

Once again Chell helped him to his feet, this time helping him stand in front of the edge of the table. Which... would have been quite a lot easier if he would stop squirming and yelling in her ear.

"Lady- lady please don't do this, I'm gonna fall, I'm gonna die, you're gonna kill me!" 

Chell still had one free hand, and she used it to snap her fingers. That, along with her signature Chell glare, shut him up.  _ 'Stop talking. Just watch.' _ She used her free arm to make a point of leaning on the table for balance.

"You're... you're leaning on the table. So you don't fall, right?" 

Chell nodded.  _ 'Right. If you ever feel like you're going to fall, just lean on the table to catch your balance.' _

"O-Okay. I can do that." Wheatley took a deep breath before shakily rising to his feet and grasping onto the table with an iron grip. After a moment his posture straightened out and his grip relaxed a bit.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this!" He laughed.

_ 'Good. Then maybe you should let go of the table.'  _ Chell smirked as she removed his hands from the table.

Wheatley wobbled a bit when she first removed his hands, but other than that he stayed put.

"Alright! Yea! I'm standing! Can I go back to the couch now?" He asked hopefully.

Chell smiled and shook her head.  _ 'You can go back to the couch when you can walk yourself over there.' _

"Drat."

_ 'Now you know how to balance while standing still. Do you think you can balance while moving?' _

"Now I suppose you want me to walk, don't you?" Wheatley asked flatly.

_ 'You're pretty good at this guessing thing.' _

"Alright... so... what do I do?" Chell now dragged Wheatley into the kitchen, releasing him next to the counter top that ran along the wall. She made a point of holding onto the counter ( _ 'You can use this to catch your balance just like the table top.' _ ), and after she had gotten that across, she motioned to herself. 

Wheatley gave her a blank stare for a moment before piecing things together. "Oh. Just... copy you, then?" Chell gave a little nod. "Brilliant!"

A few feet away, Chell slowly began to walk up and down the floor of the kitchen. One of her hands ran along beside her on the counter in case she needed to catch herself (though Wheatley knew she wouldn't). On the other side of the kitchen Wheatley inched along the cabinets at a speed so slow it was nearly laughable. Chell could tell that he relied heavily on the countertop for support, and when he tried to loosen his grip on it he took an immediate downward plunge.

"NO IMGONNAFALLIMGONNAFALLIMGONNA- Oh!" Wheatleys' panicked cries came to a halt he realized that he was no longer falling. His bright blue eyes blinked in surprise to find that he was looking up at a slightly alarmed Chell. "You caught me!" He laughed. 

Chell helped him to his feet and tried her best to ignore the pain in her chest at how familiar the lightness and friendliness of his voice sounded. It was just like before. She didn't know whether or not that was a good thing.

"Um... thank you." Wheatley said softly. 

Chell shook her head. _ 'No problem. I should've done it the first time.' _

After Wheatley had regained balance and focus, he returned to slowly pacing the kitchen floor. He picked up a bit of speed and tried to rely on the counter less and less. Eventually he got the hang of it.

"Okay. I think I'm pretty good at doing this while holding on..." He ventured cautiously.

_ 'Let go.' _

Just as he had done at the table, Wheatley wobbled a bit when he initially let go, but after that he was fine. Wheatley paced up and down he length of the kitchen without incident. The longer he practiced the faster he went, the more balanced he became, and the less he relied on the counter for support. Soon he was walking around the entire kitchen without help.

"Hey! Look at me! I'm walking!" Wheatley cheered, flailing his arms so dramatically it was a wonder he didn't fall. "Now I can explore the rest of the house, and get around on my own- oh!- and I can follow you around so you don't have to be alone all the time!"

Chell rolled her eyes and gave a tired smile.  _ 'Great.' _

His gaze turned to his feet, which were now much more useful. "Thank you, Chell. For everything." His voice was as soft and timid as it had been since she'd brought him here.

Chell gave a soft smile and nodded, though she didn't say anything. She knew that Wheatley wanted her to speak: to say that he was forgiven and everything could go back to the way it had been before he had ruined it; but Chell wasn't willing to go that far just yet. Yes, Wheatley had been much nicer and more cooperative than she expected, but he was probably only acting that way because he knew just as well as she did that he was completely at her mercy. 

Or lack thereof. 

Chell had no intention of harming him, physically or emotionally, but she wasn't going to forget that he had done both to her, either. Chell would give Wheatley a second chance. She would share her house and teach him how to function as best she could. Maybe if the two of them made it to a point where he could function without her help, the truth would come out. Maybe then she would see whether or not he treated her the way he did because he had to, or because he wanted to.

Chell was by no means ready to forgive Wheatley for what he had done, but today had brought her one step closer.


	6. Door

Now that Wheatley was mobile (Chell was beginning to question exactly why she had thought that that would be a good thing) he was a bit like a toddler: he wanted to look at everything and go everywhere. Which was even more dangerous than Chell had originally anticipated.

Yesterday, for example, Wheatley had fallen on his face just by opening the door to the refrigerator (If you asked Wheatley he would tell you that it hadn't been  _ his _ fault, he had just opened the door and then all of the sudden there was an avalanche of those tiny water blocks, so he had tried to run away but then he slipped on one and landed on his face). The whole incident had made her (laugh, for one thing) start to seriously think about all the trouble Wheatley was bound to get into now that he wasn't confined the designated paths of a rail. It was different before, when he could only go where his rail went (though even then he had been able to cause significant damage to Aperture); now he was completely free to go wherever he wanted. Which was terrifying to Chell for more than one reason.

However, Chell was a thinker, and she quickly thought of a solution for her new dilemma. 

Wheatley was trying very hard to stay on her good side. The tension between them was easing the tinniest bit every day, and though he was by no means forgiven (not yet), the barest bit of trust was beginning to ebb between them. 

 That was good. Chell could use that. 

 She found Wheatley sitting in the little breakfast nook off the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, swinging his legs and munching thoughtfully on a banana. Ever since she had given him that apple sauce on his first day with her, they had discovered that he loved fruit, and it was most of what he ate.

"Hello!" Wheatley chimed as he finished his snack. Chell gave him a little smile and waved. "Whadaya need, love? You're kind of staring at me." 

 Chell took his wrist, something he was used to by now as he had been living with her for nearly a month, and lead him out of the breakfast nook and into the living room. She stopped them right at the seam in the floor where the carpet met the tile of the kitchen. Then she turned to face Wheatley.

"Oh, charades again, is it? Alright." He was used to that too, but he flinched as she poked him square in the chest.

"Wheatley- er- me?"

_ 'Yes.' _ She nodded in acknowledgment, then shook her head and made a giant x with her arms.

"I.... don't?" 

_ 'Right.' _ She nodded again, this time repeating the previous clue while stepping one foot on the tile floor of the kitchen.

"I don't... kitchen?" Chell nodded. "Yes? I don't... go in the kitchen?" Wheatley's expression turned perplexed as he actually understood what she was saying."Why not?" 

_ 'Why not?' _ Chell gave a huff of silent laughter.  _ 'The kitchen is full of sharp, hot, cold, wet, flammable things that are not safe for someone whose best test to see if something is safe is to  _ poke _ it.' _ She gave him an incredulous look as if he should have banned  _ himself _ from the room.

"I only set my lunch on fire once! I can be more careful! Please?" She didn't budge. "Do I at least get to eat?" He asked half-heartedly. 

Her stubborn expression softened a bit at that, and she nodded, a tired but amused expression playing out on her face. After he had mumbled a quiet "Ok." she grabbed his wrist once again and backtracked through the living room and into the hall where the bedrooms were. 

"Is this what this is? You just taking me around the house and banning me from everything?" Wheatley scoffed. Much to his surprise Chell let out a soft huff of laughter, shrugging and nodding her head. "I was only joking! You can't-" Chell paused for a moment, giving him a look that seemed to dare him to continue. "I mean, um,  _ technically _ speaking it is your house and not mine and it is extremely kind of you to let me stay here, but it would be even  _ kinder  _ if you didn't banish me from every room in the house. Don't you think?"

As per usual she didn't reply, she simply paused in front of one of the bathrooms in the hall and rolled her eyes as Wheatley mumbled something about hospitality under his breath. 

 There were two bedrooms and bathrooms in this hall, with each bedroom across from its corresponding bathroom. They came to a stop in front of the first bathroom, which was Chell's.

"Alright, what's this? Your bathroom. Let me guess, I'm not allowed in there, am I?" Wheatley asked dryly.

Chell gave a little smile.  _ 'Nope.' _

"I saw that one coming. Well you know what? I've got my own bathroom. So I don't need to use yours anyways. What do you think about that?" Wheatley asked smugly, smiling a haughty smile and crossing his arms.

_ 'That's exactly what I wanted.' _

"Thought so." He sniffed.

 Once he was finished with his self-dignified-Wheatley act, Chell took his wrist again and turned so they were now facing the closed door of her bedroom.

This was the most important boundary for her.

Chell was a very quiet, private person who liked to keep to herself. She liked to have a peaceful space for herself where she could rest and think, away from the rest of the world. Before Wheatley had come along, that space had been her house, but now it had dwindled down to just her room. And even her hold on that seemed to be slipping.

One of the things that had prompted this little session of ground rules was that, a few days ago, Wheatley had conveniently forgotten about her silent, yet somehow very clear, message on how when she closed a door that meant that he was _ not _ allowed to enter the room because of privacy reasons or because Chell wanted to be alone. To make matters worse Wheatley had done this on a day of particularly clingy behavior on his part (she was exhausted), and Chell had practically thrown him out into the hallway when he had entered her room and woken her from her nap.

Wheatley was Chell's exact opposite, and having him now living with her proved to put quite a toll on Chell. He was so talkative and dependent and clingy that she rarely found time for herself anymore, and even when she did he usually found a way to weasel his way into it. Chell needed at least one place in the house where she could go to be alone. 

Wheatley seemed to especially hate this rule, even though, at least to some degree, it had already been in place. "I'm banned from your- wait, wait, wait- see, I was thinking, maybe we could do some negotiating. Because, I get the feeling I was always kind of banned from your room, what with that one recent incident where the door was closed and I came in and you were sleeping and I woke you up and you pretty much threw me-" He gave a sheepish smile, spreading his hands in front of him as Chell gave him one of her warning glares at the memory. "Right. Aside from the point. Point being, since I was already unofficially banned from this room, maybe you should unban me from it since you are banning me from all the other rooms." At the end of his spiel he gave her a bright, hopeful Wheatley smile.

Chell wasn't phased. 

"Why am I banned from your room? You've never let me in there! I want to see what it looks like!" Wheatley whined, "That's not fair! You're allowed in my room!"

_ 'It's my house.' _ She crossed her arms as her signature stubborn expression returned.

"Are there any rooms I'm not banned from?" Wheatley asked incredulously.

_ 'You're still allowed in your room and your bathroom. You're allowed in the living room. And the breakfast nook.' _

"What about the dining room?"

 The dining room was a room off the kitchen that Chell used a more of a storage room for supplies and things that she wasn't currently using. Wheatley probably couldn't do too much harm in there.

She began to nod but stopped.  _ 'On second thought, that's where I keep the breakables.' _

"Wh?!"

 Sensing another oncoming protest, Chell held out her hand, silencing him.

She pointed at herself. "You?" She pointed at Wheatley. "Me?" She made a fist. "You... want to punch me?"

Chell smiled and shook her head.  _ 'Not at the moment.' _ She pressed a hand over her heart and gave him (what she hoped was) a meaningful look.

Wheatley shifted backwards uncomfortably. "You... love me?"

Chell jerked away from him, waving her hands as if she were physically swatting the notion away.  _ 'No!'  _

"Alright, alright! You don't have to look so offended!" She shook her head, smiling at the bright shade of red now painted across his face. He was a mess.

 Chell pointed at him, giving him a serious look to reinforce the validity of her previous statement before she took his hand in hers. Wheatley blinked, his face turning a soft shade of pink.

 "You.... trust me?" Chell nodded, smiling. "Yes? Oh. Really? That's... wow. That's great. Though it's a little hard to believe since you just banned me from over half of the house." She gave a lightly teasing smile at that, squeezing his hand. "Oh, you want, you just want me to be safe? I guess?" 

_ 'Yes. And since I trust you,' _ She prompted, waving for him to continue.

"And I'll be breaking your trust... if I break your rules." Wheatley sighed, pressing a hand over his eyes in thought before giving her a fond smile. "Clever girl. Alright. You don't have to worry. I'll keep out."

_  'We'll see.' _


	7. Explode

They had been living together for a month now. 

Wheatley knew all of Chell's rules (he had learned and obeyed them much better than either one of them had expected him to), but he also knew something else. Something Chell was keeping from him.

He had feigned (some of his) ignorance for a month now, telling himself that she had every right to want to keep certain things to herself, and that over time she would eventually warm up to him again and maybe then she wouldn't keep secrets from him anymore. 

But it had been a month now. A whole month since That Day. 

Chell wasn't mad at him anymore, she didn't hate him. She hadn't completely forgiven him yet, either, but they had come a long way. Wheatley had come a long way. He was trying very very hard to stay on her good side: to follow all of her rules, spend enough time with her without being too clingy, help her around the house as much as he could. He was doing everything he could think of to try and keep her happy. To get her to like him, or, at the very least, to keep her from hating him.

 Which, at moments like this, wasn't very easy for Wheatley. 

He and Chell were sitting in the living room in dead silence. For Chell it probably wasn't very awkward, she was reading a book and even if she had simply been sitting there she was always silent anyways, but for Wheatley the silence was almost  _ painful _ .   

He hated silence. Nearly every bad thing that had ever happened to him involved silence, and so now part of him was convinced that if he destroyed any silence he ever encountered he would inevitably destroy the horrible things that went with it. 

So Wheatley decided to break the silence, by talking, of course, and the thing he said was the first thing that came to his mind.

The thing that Chell was keeping from him.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Wheatley had meant for the question to sound curious and nonchalant (he was never very good at that last one), but it came out sounding annoyed and accusing. Chell immediately forgot her book and shot him a surprised, angry look that caused him to recoil. 

 Maybe he should have left the silence alone.

Chell didn't like this topic. Her voice was something she rarely used, and even in those rare circumstances it didn't always cooperate with her. She didn't particularly like it, either, and it was something that Chell preferred to keep to herself. Wheatley knew her (perhaps a bit better than she liked, at times), and he knew that she didn't talk. So why was he bothering her about it now? 

Her crystal grey eyes shot him an accusatory glance, demanding an explanation.

 "Okay, okay, that came out wrong. That wasn't what I was going for, there. That reaction." Wheatley sank back into the couch as Chell raised an eyebrow at him. "What I was trying to say, is that, I completely understand why you don't talk to me- buttons, bombs, elevator shafts- bad things. I understand." He offered a sheepish smile as her expression hardened. "However, there are no buttons, bombs, or elevator shafts here, in your lovely little home; just one very sad, very sorry Wheatley." He gave her his most innocent, pleading puppy face, hoping that maybe one of those halo things would appear over his head for emphasis.

 Chell wasn't amused. 

 She had come to know that expression all too well in the short weeks Wheatley had been living with her. That face was dangerous. It made her want to give him a smile, or a laugh, or something, and in instances like this those things would indicate that she was agreeing with him. Which she wasn't. 

 Chell stared pensively at one of the couch cushions for a moment as if contemplating his wishes (which she wasn't) before turning to face him again and firmly shaking her head.

_ 'No.' _ She then gave him one of her I'm-serious-and-I'm-not-going-to-argue-about-it looks (Chell was the only person Wheatley knew who could argue, and win an argument, without even speaking), which usually shut him up before he could even begin to argue with her.

 Unfortunately, this time was different.

 In a bold and completely uncharacteristic act, Wheatley rose from his spot on the couch and plopped down next to Chell on the love-seat. Her previous stubborn expression was quickly replaced with one of surprise as he took her hands in his and gave her an urgent look.

" _ Please _ , love? Won't you please talk to me? I just want to, to hear your voice. That's not such a crime, is it?" Wheatley was looking at her with those piercingly bright blue eyes, and they were terribly pleading. That sad look was boring into her with such an intensity that it almost hurt, yet she couldn't force herself to look away.

Wheatley was so close, and he was touching her- holding her hands, and giving her that look, pleading with that sad, pathetic voice.

Chell could already feel her throat locking up.

She gave him a sympathetic smile, gently removing her hands from his and breaking eye contact. Again she shook her head.  _ 'It's not that simple.' _

 "Why not?" Wheatley whined, his shoulders slumping.

_ 'I can't.'  _ She placed a hand at the base of her throat, smiling sadly and shaking her head. The moment had passed. If she was going to speak to him she would have done it earlier; now it was too late. Her voice was gone.

 Wheatley didn't understand. "Yes you  _ can _ ! You can talk! I'm not stupid!" His tone of voice was quickly changing from sad to frustrated.

_ 'I never said you were.' _

 "Why won't you talk?! I know you can talk! I heard you when you- you talked to Her!"

 Wheatley hadn't meant to say it- had actually spent quite a bit of time contemplating the fact that he should  _ never  _ tell her what he had heard on That Day- but now the words were out and there was nothing he could do to take them back. 

 The reaction was immediate. 

 Chell tensed, recoiling from him as if he had struck her. Her crystal grey eyes grew wide, and, for once, her expression was one of open emotion, clearly reading: ' _ You weren't supposed to know about that.' _

 Chells' mind raced with horrible guilt ridden thoughts. Wheatley knew. He knew that she had talked to Her on That Day, and if he knew that she had talked, that also meant he knew what she had said. 

 He knew those awful things that she had said about him... didn't he?

 Little did she know that Wheatley, as per usual, was absolutely clueless. That Day had been extremely agonizing and stressful for him, and though he knew it was probably the most important day of his life thus far, most of it was a blur. He remembered being brought back from space, being terrified as he'd been confronted by Her, then there was... the core transfer... and with that he remembered excruciating pain, followed by a bright white flash..... and then he'd been human. 

 Everything after that had been a blur. Somehow he had ended up on the surface. He woke up on the ground, unable to move, only to look up and find Chell towering over him. She hadn't seemed to notice him (or at least the fact that he was awake) at the time, but he had definitely noticed her, his mind racing to try and decipher whether or not she was friend or foe. However, all his thoughts had come crashing to a halt as he had noticed one small thing.

 Chell was talking.

 In all their time together down in Aperture, Chell had never spoken one word. Wheatley had assumed that that was simply because she had been in cryo for so long that her ability to speak had been... lost... but now he saw that she could speak just fine. 

 Half of him wanted to be angry with her for tricking him into thinking that she couldn't speak, but the other half was too focused on how beautiful her voice was to care.

 Her voice sounded delicate and soft, a light ribbon of sound that wound its way through the air and into Her uncaring (metaphorical) ears. It was quiet from years without use, but it was firm and serious, too. Whatever it was she was saying, she wasn't messing around. Though he couldn't quite make out what it was that she was saying.

 His head had been pounding from whatever She had done to him, the sunlight had been blinding, he had been half paralyzed with terror, so Wheatley had resolved to simply lay there and try to focus on the sound of the ladys' voice. It was a very soothing sound, and it had helped to calm some of his panic before the next phase of terrifying events had occurred.

 Usually Wheatley looked back at that memory with fondness, remembering the flood of emotions he had felt upon seeing Chell again, at hearing her voice and hoping that she might save him. Now he realized something else about the memory.

 "You-You talked to Her." His blue eyes widened, his gaze filled with sadness and shock. "You talked to Her, before you talked to me."

 This realization was met with another: that Chell had moved away from him while he had been thinking. That didn't help.

 Wheatley half expected her to try and give another one of those sad looking pity smiles, but, as per usual, her expression was hard. Apparently she saw nothing wrong with his observation.

"You're more willing to talk to Her than you are to talk to me?!" He choked, "That's not fair! She was horrible to you the entire time you were in the facility! I should know, I watched all the tapes!" 

Chell shook her head, her eyes lit with that familiar spark of tenacity, ' _ That was different. I had to talk or She was going to- _ '

 "I was  _ nice _ to you! I woke you up, and got you a portal gun, and, yes, I screwed up, but I fixed it, didn't I? I broke you out and we took Her down... and..." The tone of his voice turned, the blue of his eyes taking a darker shade as his speech slowed. "And then you turned against me. You tricked me into thinking we were friends, but then you turned around and took  _ Her _ side. She was so terrible to you, I heard every word She said to you, yet when I finally did what  _ you  _ wanted, you decided that I was the bad guy! I was only doing what you wanted! I was doing it for you! I was going to get rid of Her, I was going to help you escape! But then you changed your mind."

 Hearing that horribly familiar voice made Chell wish that Wheatley was a little core again. That if he was angry with her she could simply walk the other way where he couldn't follow, or pluck him off of his rail and that would be that. Things weren't that simple anymore; Wheatley was human now: he could move of his own accord. She had taught him how. 

"I could see it. You didn't look happy anymore. You looked regretful. And scared."

 She wanted to move, she wanted to run, but something inside of her was frozen, fluctuating back and forth between anger and fear and suddenly she couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot. But he was still coming towards her with that horrible look in his eyes and that awful voice that was all too familiar, and before she could stop him he was right in front of her, then holding her wrists so she couldn't move. 

 "You look scared now, too." 

Chell grit her teeth and didn't respond.

"Look at me," She did. His words were firm though they were spoken completely free of anger. His voice was soft. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?"

His expression lead Chell to believe that she had imagined the worst of it. His eyes were their normal shade of bright Wheatley blue, and though they were sad they held no trace of anger. He was holding her wrists but he wasn't even really gripping them; his touch was feather light as he traced his thumb across her skin. 

It wasn't Him anymore. It was Wheatley again.

In response to his question Chell delicately removed her hands from his grasp while giving him a calm, measured look. She still wanted to move away but she stayed put. 

_ 'What do you think?' _

That answer was reason enough for Wheatley to continue talking.

 "I only... I only did what I did, because I didn't know what else to do. I had done everything for you, to get you out, and then we were so close... and you didn't want it anymore. You didn't approve of how I was doing things." He pressed his palms into his eyes as he shook his head. "But then something told me that I didn't have to care whether you approved or not. It was almost like a voice-" He started, then cut himself off. "I had been kicked around for so long... I thought it would be so amazing to be in control of everything." He gave a grim little laugh. "Obviously not though."

His hopeful blue eyes were met by her stoney gaze. He looked down at the floor.

"I'm sorry. I thought... I thought I didn't have anything else to lose." He mumbled, his face turning pink, "But I was wrong, I had you." Here he forced himself to look up at her despite the fact that her expression hadn't changed. "And you were more important than anything else."

Wheatley cringed as he was met with more silence.

"I'm sorry." He repeated.

Chell shook her head and turned away, hurt at what he had said and how he had said it. The icy chill of distrust she felt, which was almost beginning to feel comfortably familiar to her more tenacious side, helped her collect herself. It unlocked something inside of her that allowed her to breathe a little easier. 

 It also allowed for something else. 

 Chell gave Wheatley one last measured look before she swiftly left the room, tossing the word over her shoulder in a quiet voice that was free of anger but nearly bitterly sharp. 

 "Good."


	8. Animal

_Internal repairs at 92%_

_Initiating reboot..._

_Internal repairs at 99%_

_Reboot complete_

Wheatley gave a soft groan of pain as his systems came back to life. Everything _hurt_ , everything felt broken and sluggish and sharp, and he did not want to move. He wasn't sure where he was or what had happened to him, but something in the back of his mind told him that it was very very important and he needed to remember it _now_.

_Think._

Wheatley remembered the reactor core. He remembered that it had nearly caused the literal heart he did not posses to fail when the dark brooding silence he had become so used to had been shattered by the sound of ten thousand blaring alarms. He remembered that he had wanted to get out so badly that he had found a test subject, one in ten thousand, the only one that was still alive, and he had broken them out. He remembered that he had tried to get them out of the facility, but he had messed up-

Suddenly Wheatley sprang back to life, his previously dim optic flashing a blindingly bright stratospheric blue for a split second before it shrank to a pinprick.

He had woken _Her_.

His test subject was _the_ test subject, the one who had killed Her. And, in his attempt to free both of them, Wheatley had undone all of her (her, yes, that was right, the test subject was a woman, the lady) handiwork in under a minute. She had woken up because of him, and She had grabbed both of them, and then She-

Wheatley yelped as his vision flashed. He felt his optical shudders jerk involuntarily before an urgent red message flashed across his optic.

_Warning! Core corruption at 22%!_

"That can't be right!" Wheatley cried, "I was, I was at 2% last time I checked! There's no way I could've gone from two to twenty two without-"

He remembered that She had grabbed him with one of Her claws, tossing him into the air like a toy before She caught him and crushed him.

"Oh God."

She had grabbed the lady too. He remembered looking at her, how strikingly calm she looked at first, but in the last image of her he could pull from his memory banks her expression was one of pure open pain.

"Oh _God_."

Wheatley felt a wave of artificial nausea wash over him as his optic shrank to a pinprick. She could have crushed her. She could have killed her. Easily.

He shook his head vigorously as he thought. "Ok, ok, so, so maybe she's hurt. Maybe she's hurt, um, badly," He cringed, "very badly, but she has to be alive. I mean, she doesn't die. Honestly. That's just- no. She doesn't do that. She survives everything. So, so, I just need to find her, wherever she is, and I can save her, and we can get out of here."

Wheatley sped out of the dark little office with a sense of urgency. He knew he had to find the test subject, he just didn't know where she could be.

"Ok, um, even if She did hurt the lady, She probably wouldn't keep her in Her chamber. The lady is dangerous and She knows it, so that wouldn't be very smart." He noodle to himself, "So if she's not with Her, where is she?"

Suddenly Her voice flooded his mind, a soft venomous hiss.

_You must really love to test. I love it too._

"Testing!"

Aperture had quiet a lot of testing tracks but it wasn't all that hard to figure out which one was being used. All Wheatley had to look for was movement: little maintenance arms rushing back and forth, panels heaving themselves into place, a flash of orange through the cracks in the walls, and he found her in no time.

"She's alive!" Wheatley cheered, his optic spinning around in a happy arc as him chassis flooded with relief, "Of course she's alive! She wouldn't kill her when She could test her!"

Just to make sure she was ok, Wheatley peeked through the panels to see her. Nothing was wrong that he could see, but some of the relief he had previously felt began to drain away the longer he watched her. He didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before, or why he was noticing it now, but her presence felt sort of... Threatening. Almost as if she were some wild animal about to spring from a cage and attack him.

Her eyes were cold and bright like steel. They burned with focused determination, carefully sweeping over everything in the room before analyzing the tests and swiftly devouring them. She glared daggers at every camera in the room with a hatred so intense that, had it been directed at Wheatley, would have likely made him burst into flames. Her hair was a dark blur that swept behind her, a few strands that had managed to escape her ponytail trailing a little farther behind than the rest. Her jaw was set in an hard stoney expression, a mix of anger and pure stubbornness. She looked as though she was more than ready to take Her on.

 _Again_.

She was a force to be reckoned with if the tests were any indication. She absolutely destroyed them, aced every one without a single flaw. She was careful. Her every move was calculated, timed, precise. Wheatley found it ironic that she was the last human left in the facility yet she obviously worked much more efficiently than any of the remaining machines.

Watching her test was mesmerizing and terrifying, and Wheatley would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of her. He was _very_ afraid of her.

She was the human who had singlehandedly killed down Her.

Wheatley wasn't like Her at all; he was tiny and fragile and not the least bit intimidating. She was like a giant venomous spider with fangs the size of swords (while Wheatley was more like an ant), and the lady had squashed Her like it was nothing. She could easily do the same to him, and Wheatley could only imagine what she might do to him if he were to anger her.

He had already been afraid of her, but watching her test made him fear her even more.

He backed away from the panels as a feeling of unease began to settle over his core.

"Maybe... Maybe I should just leave her here." He started slowly, "After all, no one helped her on her first trip through Aperture, right? She was in the testing tracks then and, and she still made it out perfectly fine on her own." He nodded to himself. "It might not be very nice... But Aperture isn't a nice place. Nice people, er, cores, don't survive in Aperture. That's just not how it works. I mean, the lady hasn't always been very nice either, right? She killed Her. She did what she had to do to escape, and" He slowed, his shutters scrunching up in confusion. "And... She somehow ended right back where she started..." He shook his core. "But that's beside the point, point being, I need to get out- both of us need to get out- of here, and she doesn't really need my help to do that." For some reason that almost made him feel worse. "If I leave now, she can finish things up with Her, I can _live_ , and both of us can escape once she's done the dirty work! Besides, she doesn't even know I'm back online. For all she knows I'm dead." He cast a guilty glance at the test chamber behind him. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her..."

Wheatley decided to peer through the panels at her one last time before he left, but this time he moved out farther than he meant to and she spotted him.

Her eyes brightened at the sight of him, but not in a bad way. They didn't look angry or annoyed, they looked lighter. Softer. Her glare snapped out of existence the moment she saw him. She seemed to visibly relax, almost as if the anger was draining out of her.

Her reaction at seeing him made something in Wheatley's core feel warm, making all of his previous fear towards her melt away instantly. He only stayed a moment but he flashed her a happy look before he disappeared back behind the panels.

He sat in stunned silence for a moment, his emotions chasing each other in circles.

"Well..." Wheatley started, his optic, now back to its normal happy Wheatley blue, glanced behind him at the dash of orange between the panels. "Maybe I was wrong." He said softly, "She does look... Angry, when she's testing, but, er, that, that doesn't mean she's angry all the time. I mean, she didn't look like that when we were escaping together." Another bout of warm blossomed from his core. "And, yes, she, um, deactivated Her, but She had it coming, honestly. She was a murderer, She'd been horrible to, to everyone for years before the lady came along and ended Her, um, Her reign of terror." Now all the uncertainty had faded from his voice. "That's not a bad thing, that's a _good_ thing."

Wheatley quickly turned on his rail and sped out of the room, trying on one of his own determined expressions for the first time in decades.

He did trust the lady, and he was going to get her out of here no matter what it took to free her.


	9. Chime

Wheatley stared up at the ceiling with dull blue eyes. 

It was nearly light out now, and he hadn't slept all night. He had tried for awhile but every time he closed his eyes he saw Chell. He saw how scared she had looked the night before when he had yelled at her, how her soft beautiful voice had twisted into something bitter and sharp that she had thrown at him like a knife. 

That was the worst part about all of this, in his opinion. She didn't like to use her voice in the first place, he  _ knew _ she didn't, but last night he had upset her enough to use it as a weapon.

Wheatley had scared her. He could remember a time not very long ago when he was afraid of her, too, and he knew that being afraid of her had made it harder to help her. At first it had made him less  _ willing _ to help her. Wheatley was extremely lucky that Chell was helping him to begin with after everything he had done; making things harder for her was only going to hurt both of them. He needed to be more careful about what he said.

Wheatley sighed and rolled over on the couch. He had left his room a few hours ago after he had realized that he wasn't going to get any sleep that night. He thought that he might as well get up and wait for Chell so he could apologize. Again. 

He lay flat on the couch and watched the dusty shafts of light migrate slowly over the ceiling until he heard the quiet creak of a door. 

Chell had been awake for most of the night. What little sleep she had managed had been plagued with nightmares of Him and Her, and the rest of the night she had spent staring up at the ceiling while angry, guilt ridden thoughts chased each other around in her mind. 

Eventually she had decided that she might as well start the day early, and she had gotten up and dressed and put her hair up. She stayed in her room a little longer after that, knowing that he would probably be there waiting the moment she opened the door and she wasn't ready to face him yet.

Chell wasn't sure how to handle him after what had happened last night. He had blatantly ignored her wishes, frightened her so badly she couldn't move, yelled at her (or at least she thought he had. She wasn't sure after how calm he sounded when he took her wrist.), and shaken her emotions badly enough to make her speak: to snap at him. 

She had thought that things were getting better between them; now she wasn't so sure. What she was sure of was the fact that she couldn't hide in her room all day. Chell would have to face Wheatley eventually, so she might as well get it over with.

As she had predicted he was there and talking the second she opened the door. 

Wheatley sprang up from his slumped position on the couch and nearly ran to greet Chell as she emerged from her room, reminding her of a dog greeting its master.

"'Mornin, love!" He chimed a little too cheerfully, flashing her a charming smile that fell a little flat. 

Chell's only acknowledgment was to give him a weary look before she stepped past him. Wheatley followed her into the kitchen, stopping at their invisible border between the kitchen and the breakfast nook. Breaking her rules wasn't going to help anything.

"How are you?" He asked quietly.

She pawed lightly at her eyes, giving him a tired look. He felt a pang of guilt: Chell hadn't slept either because of what he did. 

She started to walk away but before she could get anywhere she felt a light tug on her sleeve. She turned around to find Wheatley giving her a guilty look.

"Look... I'm really really sorry. About  _ everything _ , but, at the moment, I'm mostly sorry about... How I behaved last night." He bit his lip as he looked up at her. "I shouldn't have pushed you to talk when I knew you didn't want to. You don't have to talk to me ever again. I wouldn't blame you. I don't deserve it." He broke eye contact for a moment as he wrung his hands. "I just... I thought I should apologize again because, honestly, I'm so guilty I couldn't sleep all night. So. I'm very sorry. Again."

There was a moment of silence that he wished he had expected. Despite what had happened the night before he still wanted to hear her talk. It hurt that she had spoken to him once (in anger) only to return to silence the next day.

"Wheatley." Her voice was every bit as beautiful as he remembered it, if not more so. It was soft and warm, free of anger and laced with sympathy. The sound was light enough that Wheatley swore he could almost see her words (well, word, in this case) float around her. He was certain that if her voice was tangible it would be something so pure and delicate it would melt at a touch. 

And she had used that beautiful voice to say his name. 

For the first time in a long time Wheatley was at a complete loss for words. It took him at least a full minute to realize that he was supposed to respond, and that was only after she started giving him a concerned look.

"Yes, er, um, Chell?" He scrambled.

The voices raged inside her head, flames of anger fighting rigid shards of icy guilt. She knew she couldn't stand for both, not at once, so she picked one and moved on. 

Chell shook her head as she gave Wheatley a soft smile. "It's not your fault." 

He blinked at her, scrunched up his face as though he'd suddenly tasted something sour, and blinked at her again. "Well... Um... Not that I'm trying to be difficult or anything, but, um, yes it is. My fault. Actually." He shook his head as he gave her a guilty but serious look. "Because, you see, I understood that you didn't want to talk, but since I wanted to hear you talk I just kept pushing you until-"

"Yes. But I didn't have to listen." She didn't sound angry but a healthy dose of stubbornness was beginning to leak into her voice. 

He shook his head. "I  _ still _ shouldn't have tried to talk you into something you didn't want to do."

Chell didn't respond this time. Instead Chell opted to look him up and down, wearing an expression vaguely reminiscent of the faces she'd made back in Aperture when she'd been trying to solve a test. 

Though now she wore a smirk. 

Wheatley could tell that she didn't want him to see it by the way she kept pressing her lips together into a thin line and scrunching her eyebrows in a fake confused expression (Wheatley should know, she had given him plenty of confused looks before), but after a moment she gave it up, releasing the smirk along with a soft huff of laughter. She then pressed her hand over her eyes and shook her head.

"What?" He asked, trying to suppress a smile of his own.

"You." Her voice was warm and her eyes sparkled when she spoke.

"What about me?"

"You're different." She said softly, her eyes brightening a shade as she looked up at him. 

He was different.

Even before Wheatley had turned on her he hadn't been the greatest companion Chell could have asked for. He had insulted her, haphazardly thrown her into deadly situations on multiple occasions, and blamed her for things they both knew she had nothing to do with; now Wheatley apologized profusely for every little thing he did (not that this particular thing was a little thing, but still), obeyed all of her rules (even now he was standing safely outside their invisible kitchen border), and, most importantly, he wouldn't let Chell take the blame for anything bad even if she tried. Aside from a few thoughtless remarks and what had happened the night before, Wheatley had behaved surprisingly well the entire time he had been living with Chell. Suddenly what had happened seemed insignificant in comparison to what had happened  _ before _ ; what could have happened instead. 

Things could have gone a lot worse and Chell knew it. She also knew why things hadn't happened that way.

"I think you're getting better now."

Wheatley still hadn't fully recovered from the last thing she had said, so this had caught him completely off guard. He knew it was a compliment that meant many things at once, and suddenly he felt infinitely better. This tiny little conversation (their first real conversation), though about half of it had been spent arguing (nicely), eased the tension between them so much that it was almost as if their argument the night before had never happened. 

Chell seemed to feel the same way because soon she was giving him another one of her mischievous smiles.

"Come here." Her eyes glistened as she took his hand in hers. "There's something you need to see."

Wheatley didn't object as Chell lead him out of the kitchen, though he was surprised when they stopped at the front door of the house. She had been putting this off for long enough; he was ready for it now.

Wheatley hadn't been outside since That Day, which had now been over a month ago. By the time they had reached Chell's house it had been dark, and the only thing Wheatley really remembered from the outside world was wheat and darkness. Not that taking in the scenery had been his main concern at the time. 

Now he gave Chell a nervous look as her hand wrapped around the door knob, not sure if he was ready to become part of a world full of dangerous, unpredictable elements that had nearly killed him just a little over a month ago.

As she opened the door Wheatley was stunned into silence for the second time that day.

The surface was beautiful.

The air was crisp, cool enough to be refreshing but yet not cold. The first rays of light were creeping silently over the horizon, making everything around them glowed gold in the early morning twilight. The sky was painted with soft pastels while the trees were adorned with vibrant shades of red, and orange, and yellow, the wind making their leaves drift gracefully to the ground like confetti. 

But the breeze carried more than just leaves. 

Soft music could be heard on the wind, a sound that, to Wheatley, almost sounded familiar. As he turned to find its source he finally noticed the thing Chell had brought him to see in the first place.

On the other side of Chell's house, a little ways away, there were shadows that slowly took the forms of houses. More houses lay beyond that and a few houses lay beyond that. Warm, cozy light pierced through the silhouettes, proving that the dwellings were occupied.

Wheatley had to take in the scene about five times before he actually realized what it meant. A growing sense of dread crept up his spine as he realized they were in a town full of humans.


	10. Fruity

As a fresh wave of fear slowly began to swallow Wheatley whole, he did what he always did when he felt he was in trouble: he turned to Chell. 

She didn't look nearly as alarmed as he did. 

Her sterling silver eyes were pools of calm, lit with fondness as they carefully scanned over the town. It hit him then that she had been living here the entire time he had been gone (however long that had been), and she likely saw this place (wherever it was) as her home.

Which meant that he should  _ probably _ be careful in wording his current feeling of alarm so as not to insult her.

 "We're in a town... Full of people." Wheatley stammered. 

Chell waited a moment before responding.

 "Something like that." She said softly. "It's tiny. It runs to the end of the road and then stops." She paused, taking in the scenery again before her gaze returned to him. "They call it Horizon." 

 "Horizon," He made a strange face as he said the word, almost as if he were tasting it. "That's a strange name for a town, isn't it?" 

 "Not really. That's how people find it: you can see it on the horizon. It's the only thing around for miles and miles." She trailed off, her gaze drifting to what Wheatley realized was the beginning of the street the town surrounded. "It's a nice place. They're nice people."

Wheatley wanted to ask Chell how she had found this place. He wanted to know how the people here had treated her when she was new to town, and whether or not she had told them about There. The last question alone would probably be a fair evaluation of how much Chell trusted them.

Wheatley shook his head.

 "It's not them I'm worried about." He gave Chell a nervous look as he bit his lip. "I'm not so... Great... At this whole being human thing." 

 Chell looked up at him, half smiling half frowning. "Neither am I." 

 That comment actually earned her a laugh. His was different from her musical little giggles; his was more of a punctuated 'ha'. He shook his head at her as he smiled.

 "Very funny." He snorted. "At least you know... What it's like. There. They don't. They don't know what I- what we've been through." He smiled at her weakly. "I don't know how well I'll be able to fit in with people like that." 

For some reason Chell had thought that this was going to be a lot easier for Wheatley. He liked people, or, at the very least, he liked her. He loved conversation and contact- just being able to look up from whatever he was doing and see another person was enough to make Wheatley happy. As long as he had one of the three he was practically in heaven. 

So Chell was a bit perplexed as to why he seemed so afraid of meeting more people. 

Maybe she shouldn't have been, though, because in all honesty there weren't may things Wheatley wasn't scared of. He was scared of the dark, he was scared of loud noises, he was scared of animals- just about the only thing Wheatley wasn't scared of was Chell. (Most of the time.)

"Wheatley." 

The sound of her voice was soft and sweet, and it calmed him instantly.

"You'll be fine." She gave him a reassuring smile as she slipped her hand into his. "You just need to start small."

She tugged on his wrist gently as her smile turned mischievous. 

"Come on."

"Where are we going?" He asked as he followed her off the porch. "It's barely even light out. Is anyone else even awake yet?"

Chell shook her head. "That's the point."

 Wheatley followed her down the road the town ran along. It wasn't very wide, only big enough for two cars to drive on at once, but it was long. He couldn't see both ends of it. On this end of the road there were very few building lining the street. Chell's house stood alone save for another small house across the street. Aside from that it looked like she was alone.

"It's kind of... Barren... For a town, isn't it?" Wheatley didn't even have to look at her face to tell she disliked his comment. He could feel it. "No, no, no, I don't- it's not that I don't like it- it's perfectly fine- but I mean, it's just spread kind of thin. Don't you think? I swear I saw tons of little houses when I looked earlier, but now it just looks empty." He used his free hand to rub at his eyes. "Maybe I'm just tired and I'm seeing things."

At that point they were on the other side of the road and Chell released her hold on him. She gave him a serious look that told him he was on to something.

"You saw the east end of town." She nodded away from the end of the road. "This is the west end. There aren't as many houses here."

"Why not?" 

The words had only just left his mouth when Wheatley noticed that the land beyond the end of the road was covered in wheat. A landscape that was familiar, and, from a distance, a bit too perfect to be natural. 

"Oh." Wheatley swallowed hard. "Do they... Do they know about... Her?"

"Not like we do." Chell continued to glare at the fields as she spoke. "But they know enough to stay away."

For some reason Wheatley found himself smiling despite himself. 

" _ You _ don't?" He asked, though it wasn't really a question. 

Chell's hard expression shifted to something between confused and amused. She suddenly looked very calm.

"You're here, aren't you?" She asked smoothly.

 Wheatley snorted.

"How did you pull that off, anyways?" He was trying to sound nonchalant but awe was quickly seeping into his voice. "I know She's terrified of you and all that, but we weren't even inside. And I know there were turrets there, I remember-"

"Shh." Her eyes were lit with something that distantly resembled anger, though her voice was far from angry. "Not here." 

"Sorry."

 They walked the rest of the way in mutual silence, following a beaten path that branched off from the main road. Soon it took them through a field covered in tall grass, and after that it ended in a nice little patch of trees.

"Where are we?" Wheatley asked.

"My favorite place in town." Chell said lightly.

 Wheatley was beginning to think that his definition of town was different than hers. 

"This doesn't look like part of town." He mused. "There aren't any buildings or houses or people or anything. It's just.... Trees. And fields. And fences." 

"It's a farm." She smiled, "Look," For a moment she disappeared up a tree, but she quickly returned with an armful of something. 

 "Say Apple."

 Wheatley was elated. "They can make apples here?" He asked, awestruck. 

"They  _ grow _ apples." Chell emphasized. "They grow all the food for the town. Sometimes I like to sneak out here when no one else is around and help out." She cleaned the dirt out of a nearby basket before dragging it to her feet and disappearing up the tree again.

 Wheatley was puzzled. "Why don't you come when people are here? Don't they let you help?"

 When Chell reappeared she wore a light a frown as she dumped the apples into the basket. "They do but then they try to... Pay me for it."

 Wheatley blinked. "I'm sorry I'm just, I'm lost as to how that's a bad thing."

 Chell stayed on the ground for a moment, shaking her head. "I don't help for the money. I don't want it."

"Have you tried telling them that?" Wheatley offered.

"Yes."

"And?"

"They're stubborn."

 Wheatley laughed. "Sounds like someone else I know."

"Hey." Chell retorted, and when she reappeared from the tree he could tell she was trying very hard not to smile.

"What?" He smirked.

 In his sudden bout of haughty confidence Wheatley's reflexes had decided that they weren't needed at the moment and they could go on break until further notice. So, when  Chell next said "Catch." all Wheatley could do was blink. 

"Ow!"

 And fall to the ground as he was hit square in the nose.

"Wheatley!" Chell picked up the apple with a slightly annoyed look. "You bruised it!"

"You're- you're worried about the fruit?" He scoffed, though for some reason he found himself wanting to smile. "You chucked an apple at my nose!"

"Tossed." She corrected, leaning forward just the tiniest bit as she spoke.

"That was not a toss!" He laughed, "That hurt!"

"It's an apple." Chell said softly.

"It's a hard apple!" Wheatley emphasized. 

"Then you should have caught it."

 There was something in her voice that was very new to him. Usually she was so quiet and serious, but she was openly smiling at him, and it was like her voice was dancing around in his head.

 "Wh-" He shook his head, his smile growing as his voice turned sly. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"Me?" Chell asked innocently, gently batting her eyes as she pressed a hand over her heart. 

"Yes, you." He pointed a finger at her teasingly. "Did you try to pelt me with fruit because I called you  _ stubborn _ ?"

Her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. "I would never."

"Mmhm."

"But you did call me stubborn." She mused, looking up at him innocently. "So if I did hit you with an apple, even if it  _ was _ an accident, you might have deserved it. Just a little."

 If that was how she wanted to play, Wheatley thought, then he would just have to give her a taste of her own medicine.

"Catch!" He yelled, tossing her an apple while her back was turned.

 The difference, of course, was that this was Chell. So instead of simply blinking and watching the projectile hit her in the face, she swiftly turned and caught the apple without even looking at it. 

"Thank you." She gave a satisfied smirk as Wheatley's jaw dropped, taking a big bite out of the apple. Her smile quickly faded as she heard the soft sound of footsteps from the tall grass behind them.

"What's that?" Apparently Wheatley heard it too.

"Shh."

"Is it...Her?" Wheatley whispered. All the color had drained from his face as if he had seen a ghost.

"Worse." Chell replied, though again it looked as though she was trying not to smile. "Teenagers."

The moment the word left her mouth they were taken from all sides as five figures jumped out at them.

"ATTACK!" 

 "AH!"

Wheatley flailed around as two of them took him. He hadn't really understood Chell's last remark (it wasn't Her at least, so they weren't in immediate danger), so he still found being tackled to the ground by complete strangers that he couldn't even see to be a tad frightening.

If Wheatley was honest, though, what was worse than him being attacked was hearing Chell being attack and not being able to see what was happening.

"Take her down!" One of them cried.

 The next thing he knew he could see what was happening to Chell, and three of them had her pinned to the ground. Wheatley had to do a double take. Chell was clever enough that she could have taken on all five of them by herself and won, yet there she was, lying in the dirt with three of them practically sitting on her, smiling madly. He didn't understand any of it.

"We've got her!"

 The trio hefted her up by her arms, then held them behind her back so she couldn't get free.

"Do you surrender, Chell?" A red haired girl asked smugly.

 Chell nodded and Wheatley had to pick his jaw up off the ground for the second time that day.

"Good. You're under arrest."

"Why?" Chell almost laughed.

"For trespassing, abandoning your adoring followers for over a month, and-"

"Who's he?" The girl who had been holding Wheatley asked. 

"It's not Michael?" 

"It's not Michael." A green eyed boy confirmed nervously.

"It sure sounded like it the way you two were talking." The red haired girl sang.

"That's enough, Auburn." Chell said sternly.

"Who's Michael?" Wheatley asked.

"That's enough." Chell repeated, thought this time her command was a bit more heated. She paused for a moment before she continued. "This is Wheatley." He gave the children an awkward wave. "He's new to town. I brought him here about a month ago, but he's had a bit of a rough time. I haven't been around because I've been helping him recover." When no one made a move to speak she added, "Wheatley, these are the town's children."

 "Children." The blonde haired boy scoffed, rolling his eyes.

 "This is Auburn." Chell nodded to the red haired girl who had pinned her earlier.

 "Her apprentice." Auburn corrected. Chell smiled.

 "Jake." A boy with black hair and bright green eyes. He was one of the children who had tackled Wheatley.

 "Jeffery." A boy with dark brown hair and grey eyes. He was one of the three would had taken down Chell.

 "And the twins." These were two children, a boy and a girl, who looked almost identical. They both had curly blonde hair and grey eyes.

 "Daniel." The boy said.

 "Danni." The girl said.

 Jake looked at Chell and shook his head. "We're just glad you're ok."

Auburn nodded. "Mom's mad at you. Shes been worried."

"Everyone's been worried." The twins added.

 Wheatley watched as Chell pressed her hands over her eyes and gave a strained sigh.

"They don't need to be worried. I'm fine."

 The children seemed used to this response because, while Chell wasn't watching, they quickly exchanged an annoyed look.

"I know." Jeffery said calmly, "Still though, maybe you and Wheatley should go talk to everyone and let them know you're ok."

Chell shook her head. "You can tell them for me. Wheatley and I need to head home."

"Why?" Danni whined.

"Because. You nearly gave him a heart attack earlier; he's not ready to meet the rest of your family. And besides," She gave him a little smile as she took his hand. "I think he's had enough excitement for one day."


	11. Lull and Storm

Wheatley awoke in a room so dark he couldn't see his own hands in front of his face. The only thing he could deduce about his environment was a soft rumbling that could be heard in the distance. Everything was black and still, almost peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

"Welcome back." She sang, Her sticky sweet voice echoing through the room. "Did you miss me?"

 At the sound of Her voice Wheatley sprang from the floor. He wanted to run, where to he didn't know, but he still couldn't see.

"Chell?" He cried, because if he was back Here with Her, surely she was there too. He had never been alone with Her without Chell, and he certainly didn't want to start now.

"Oh, you're worried about  _ her _ . Don't be." She said smoothly. "You have enough problems of your own." 

"AH!" Wheatley was blinded as the room was suddenly filled with light. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust but after that he could see with perfect clarity. And what he saw almost made him wish the room was dark again. 

The facility was falling apart around him. The walls were rumbling and quaking as they fell apart piece by piece in a massive mechanical avalanche. Panels were dropping from the ceiling, the floor was buckling underneath him, the walls were crumbling into nothing, and beyond all this mess of grey and black and white, Wheatley caught sight of a tiny speck of orange.

"Chell?" He called, breaking into a run as he attempted to dodge the panels falling around him. "Chell!"

She was pinned under a metal beam that had fallen from the ceiling. Chell was still alive, her eyes bright and alert, but they were also filled with emotion and pain. She was struggling to free herself with no luck, and he couldn't reach her.

"You didn't honestly think she could save you, did you?" She asked softly, her voice almost sympathetic. "She can only do so much. She's only human.  You are too, now."

 Suddenly the ceiling caved in, metal slamming against metal, and then Chell was gone and Wheatley was trapped.

"NO!"

He was scrambling, trying to get free, trying to reach Chell- he had to get her out- but he couldn't even see her, and now he was being buried too.

"I want you to remember that it doesn't matter how safe you  _ think _ you are." 

"Chell!" He cried again.

"I'm still going to  _ kill _ you." She hissed, "You're still going to die." 

 Wheatley awoke to find that the house was shaking. The sky outside was flashing back and forth from dark to light, and a terrible sound was crackling through the air so loudly that it hurt.

 "CHELL!" He screeched, his previous terror now mixing with a new one.

 Wheatley dove underneath the blankets of his bed and wedged his head under his pillow. Surely this had to be the end of the world. Back There, a long time ago when it had still been full of people, Wheatley had heard humans talk about the sky falling before, but they had always laughed soon after mentioning such things; he never thought that such a thing ever really happened on the surface. But he believed it now.

 "Oh God!" He yelped, squeezing his eyes shut at another flash of light. "OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod!" Now the ground was quivering again. "CHELL!" He choked, ducking back under the blankets. 

Wheatley wanted for her to rush in and fix everything, but the sensible part of him knew that she was probably still asleep: if he wanted her help he would have to go and get it himself. Which meant he would have to leave the safety of his bed.

"Ok, ok, ok- this, thing, is pretty loud, whatever it is, so  _ maybe _ Chell is already awake, and I can just quietly insert myself into her room- just to keep her company. To keep her calm, during, the, possible, likely, end of the world. She probably won't be that mad as long as- YIKE!" He pulled the blanket back over his head for protection as light flashed into the room and he dashed out of it. 

 "Hey, um, lady? Chell?" He knocked softly on the door to her room. "I, um, I know you're probably, er, sleeping. I'd imagine that's what just about everyone in town is doing at this hour. Sleeping. It's dark out, so that's natural for, um, for humans." He gave a squeaked as the floor shook. "I know that we had a deal, we made a sort of, silent deal, back when you were still 'mute', um, that I would stay out of your room here, and never wake you up when you're sleeping- ever again- believe me, I learned my lesson on that one. Immediately. But, there's this tiny thing, this little thing-" His voice was rising in pitch as he spoke, the blanket clutched tighter and tighter around him. "And it's that, I think, the world may very well be ending." He listened. "I'll let that set in." Silence. "I'm very sorry to break such horrible news at such an awful hour, but I felt that you had a right to know." He was making an attempt to sound calm; it wasn't working. "I also thought that... Maybe, you might like to see me- One last time. Before we all die. So, if you could just open the door?" He knocked again, louder this time."Please open the door!" At she hadn't opened the door by this point, Wheatley thought, it could only be because she didn't want to. "Ok, ok, ok! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything! I know that it's the middle of the night, and I'm waking you up, and asking to break your rules- at this point I'm really just blowing the rules out of the water- but can you please just  _ open the door _ ?"

 Chell had been sitting in bed listening to Wheatley call for help for a few minutes now. It wasn't because she was angry with him for trying to kill her Then or waking her up now; she hadn't answered immediately because she already knew the solution to this problem and she did not like it. She knew Wheatley. If she opened that door he would barge into her room without hesitation. He would be too scared to return to his own room, she would be too much of a sap to make him, and before she knew it he would be spending every night in here with her. And every day, too. Because this rule, the stay-out-of-my-room-or-you-might-not-come-out-of-it rule was the most important rule of all. They both knew it. Chell knew that if she let this rule go she'd be giving Wheatley permission to come in here any time he liked, and permission to break all the other rules she had set, too. She wasn't sure it was worth it. 

 After all, it was only one night. Wheatley might be scared now, but the storm would pass soon enough. He would call for her out in the hall for awhile before he realized that she wasn't coming out. Then he would go back to his room, hide in his bed, and fall asleep. The storm would pass. If he was cross with her in the morning she could tell him she didn't know what he was talking about: she had slept soundly through the night. 

 It seemed like a solid enough plan to Chell and her practical side was more than ready to execute it, but the rest of her was not.

 The sound Wheatley was making was horrible. He sounded like a puppy left out in the rain, whimpering and crying for help. He sounded scared and abandoned. Wheatley wasn't stupid either; they were going to reach a point where he figured out she was hearing him perfectly well, she just wasn't listening. He was beginning to sound as though he'd already reached it.

 She opened the door.

"Wheatley." 

 Her voice was softer than usual, and she sounded as tired as she looked. She was about to tell him that everything was fine, it was only a thunderstorm, he could go back to sleep, but when she opened the door she saw a frightened Wheatley with a blanket wrapped around his quivering frame, looking up at her with helpless blue eyes. 

Or at least, that's what she saw for about two seconds before he darted into her room. 

Before she could stop him (or blink, for that matter,) he sprang inside like a cat and dove into her bed, wedging his head under her pillow and hiding under the blanket he'd brought with him. 

 After a moment he peeked out at her. She swore the fear disappeared from his eyes for a moment when he caught her expression. "Oh," He squeaked, curling tighter under his blanket at her slightly annoyed gaze. "didn't you say I-I could come in?" 

 Chell crossed her arms and shook her head. Once again he could tell that she was trying not to smile. This time she was doing a better job of it, though.

 "No? I thought you did. I could've sworn-" Violently bright light invaded the room and Wheatley's voice became muffled and shaken as he burrowed further down under the blankets for safety. "Alright, I know you don't forgive me, and you probably don't trust me, and I'm breaking your rules-" His voice became even quieter. "And I should probably stop talking because I'm really not helping my case at this point," He shifted, his voice twisting. "But, something is very  _ very _ wrong. I think the sky is falling!" He choked, "I'm serious! And I know you don't want me here in your room, but the thing is, any time anything is wrong, there's this little voice in my head, and it's always saying: find Chell! Get Chell! Because-" She couldn't see but it almost sounded like he was on the verge of hysterics. "No matter what's wrong- no matter how bad or big or small it is- you can always fix it. Always. You always make everything better." He cringed as the thunder finally reached them. "So, please!" He yelped, "What is this? And, can you please make it stop? Please!" 

 Chell took a moment to asses everything: his words and his movements, before she carefully responded.

"Calm down." 

 It wasn't the most sensitive thing she could have said, but, to be fair, Wheatley was practically hyperventilating at this point, and if he didn't stop he was probably going to pass out. He didn't respond verbally but Chell noticed his breathing slow just the barest bit. It still wasn't good enough for her. "Scoot over." She nudged him to the other side of the bed as she climbed under the blankets next to him.

 Once she was under the covers she pried the blanket out of his hands and off of his head, revealing a very frightened, disheveled looking Wheatley. Chell wasted no time in sweeping the blanket over him and settling him under it.

 "What-What are you- doing?" 

Wheatley knew what she was doing. Chell had done this every night for the first week he had lived with her: she would give him his pillow and blanket, fix them for him, and make him lay down and go to sleep. The difference here was that she had already fixed the pillow and blanket, and he was already laying down. And now she was laying next to him. 

"Helping." She said softly. Now that Chell looked back up at him he almost seemed more alarmed than before, and she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. Apparently now Wheatley was more terrified of her than the storm outside.

 "I don't-"

Wheatley's breathing was getting much worse and he was trying so hard to get away from her he was about to fall off the bed. She looked him in the eye for a moment before gently capturing his wrist. That was all it took for him to remember that he liked contact, and after that he allowed Chell to take his arm and wrap it around her in a sort of hug.

 "Get your breath." Now that her head was resting against his chest she could really hear how bad it was. He obliged, shifting and slowly gulping down air until the rise and fall of his chest was steady again. "There you go." 

Wheatley buried his face in her hair as lightning streaked across the sky, tightening his grip on her. She smoothed her hand across his back in response. 

"You know what electricity is?" Chell asked.

Wheatley almost scoffed.

"I was, I was a core. Of course I know what electricity is." He might have sounded snobby if his voice wasn't so meek.

"The light is natural electricity. The sound, the ground shaking, it's just the sound the light makes."

"That's it?" He whimpered.

"That's it." She echoed. "It can't hurt you here. You're safe inside."

They lay in silence for awhile, listening to the storm rage outside. The rain was beginning to ease and Chell could tell that it was starting to move out. Next to her Wheatley was beginning to relax. He shifted so his arm was no longer beneath her but draped over her shoulders and around her back, still hugging her. His head rested in the crook of her neck.

"Thank you." He mumbled. "I'm glad you're ok."

"Why?"

"I had one of those... dream things... about...Her. And you." He tightened his hold around her. "You lost."

"I've had dreams like that too." 

 "Really?" Wheatley knew that she was human but sometimes it very hard for him to believe that she was afraid of anything.

 "I used to have them every night." 

 "God." She felt him cringe. "That's horrible." 

 "It was." She agreed. "It was Her." Wheatley couldn't help but notice that her voice was heavier than usual. "It was like I was finally free from-"

 "There." He interjected.

 "There." Chell said quietly. "But, I still wasn't free from Her. I realized that it was me that wouldn't let go of Her." 

 "What do you mean?"

 "I couldn't get over everything that had happened. Even thought it was all over, I couldn't let go of it. It was too much." He felt her shake her head the barest bit. "So I tried to focus on what I had gained instead of what I had lost."

 "And the nightmares just stopped?"

 "Not over night," She smiled at her pun. "but they lessened quite a bit."

 "Do you ever have nightmares now?" Wheatley asked hesitantly.

 "Sometimes." Chell admitted. "They don't scare me as much now. Before I would wake up from them and all I could think of was There. Of everything that happened." The heaviness was slowly ebbing out of her voice. "Now I think about how lucky I am. How it's finally over. Now I have a life of my own, and a town full of people who care about me-"

 "And now you have me too." Wheatley interrupted softly. 

Chell giggled, snuggling into his chest the tiniest bit.

"And you too." Suddenly she turned solemn. "You don't have to worry about Her anymore, Wheatley. She can't hurt you." Chell squeezed his hand. "I won't let Her."

Wheatley couldn't see her face but she sounded determined. 

_ 'Stubborn.' _ He thought with a smile. He still hadn't forgotten that little argument.

"Thank you." He said softly.

Thunder boomed somewhere outside the window, but this time Wheatley didn't even flinch.


	12. Rise

On That Day something fell from the sky.

 Chell and the rest of the town watched in horror as it shot across the sky, scarring the sky behind it with dark streak of smoke. For the short time it was there it was almost too bright to look at: it was moving so fast they heard it break the sound barrier. That wasn't what alarmed Chell the most though: what truly frightened her was that, as it fell from the sky, she swore she heard it scream.

 Everyone else was worried about what it was. Where it had landed. If it was dangerous. Chell knew the answer to the first two but not the third.

 She opted to go find out. 

 They reluctantly allowed her to do so, nervously eyeing the sea of wheat in the distance. Only two people had ever returned from there, and neither one of them had been in good condition when they had done so. They told her to be careful, that she didn't have to do this if she didn't want to. She told them that she did.

 While they returned to their homes Chell donned her Aperture orange jumpsuit and set out towards the shed. The sun rose lazily behind her as she trekked through the fields, and by the time the shed was within seeing distance it had already risen far above her. She had enough light to see clearly now.

But Chell still did a double take at what she saw when she reached the shed.

Chell hadn't expected to find Wheatley on the surface. She had expected something more along the lines of an open shed door and a sarcastic "Welcome back." requiring her to plunge back down into the depths of Aperture and break Wheatley out if she wanted to save him. Which wasn't going to happen. 

During the trek to the shed Chell had come to an agreement with herself that she would not go back inside Aperture for any reason. If Wheatley was on the surface and it was a matter of picking him up and hauling him back to Horizon she would do so; but she wasn't going to risk her life for him after all he had done. Chell knew he wouldn't do that for her.

When she reached the shed she was surprised to find that Wheatley was on the surface, but she was more surprised to find that he was no longer a core.

Wheatley was human.

 He was laying at her feet in a crumpled heap of lanky limbs and Aperture orange, looking more pathetic than after She had crushed him as a core. Chell realized that, now, she didn't have much of a choice over whether or not she would save him. As horrible as it sounded (even to her), saving a little robot was very different than saving a human being. 

 It was also much harder.

"Isn't it a lovely day?" Chell looked up to find that she was being watched. A small white camera was mounted on the shed, following her movements while relaying Her voice, which was lighter than Chell had ever heard. "The birds are singing, the sky is nice and blue. I even saw a deer this morning." Chell gave the camera an annoyed glare. There were currently more pressing matters at hand than the weather. "I'm sorry, am I too peppy for you?" She asked innocently, "It's just that I'm having such a wonderful day. Your replacements have been testing day and night for weeks, I recently found an entire wing of the facility  _ brimming _ with test subjects, and now I'm finally reuniting with you again after all these years. How are you?" Chell glared down at Wheatley, then back up at the camera. "Oh." The happiness drained from Her voice. "The first time you stop by for a visit in over three years and you didn't even come to see me. I should have expected as much." Chell could practically see Her shaking Her head. "Don't worry about him, he's fine. For now."

Chell disagreed. Wheatley looked thin and dirty and fragile. He looked frail enough that he might snap in half at a touch. Chell watched him shiver by her feet for a moment before She spoke up again.

"I could kill him, but, out of the two of us, I'm not the killer. You are. So I'm going to let you decide." Two turrets rose out of the ground on either side of the shed, both pointing their scarlet beams at Wheatley. "Speak now or forever hold your peace."

 It was a trap and Chell knew it: She wanted to steal her voice and her emotions at the same time. She expected Chell to save Wheatley, to  _ want _ to save him. If Chell openly admitted that that was what she wanted she would be exposing an emotional vulnerability. She would see it, and She would exploit it: hurting both of them at once by killing Wheatley. Chell didn't want that, so she did the only thing she could think of. She deviated.

 "Why?" She warped her voice into something stronger than its usual whispy lightness. She needed to sound strong and angry. Using her voice in such a way hurt her throat but she kept at it.

 "Why what?" 

 "Why would I want to help him?" Chell demanded.

 "That's a good question." 

 "He used me, he betrayed me, he tried to kill me." Chell glared down at Wheatley with bright grey eyes. "He's selfish and egotistical. He can't do anything right. He never shuts up." Her voice turned soft again, unable to hold up any longer. "Have fun. I'm not taking him."

 Chell gave Wheatley a detached look before she turned her back to him and the shed and began to walk away. She didn't get very far.

"Wait." 

_ 'Reverse psychology.'  _ Chell thought to herself.

Chell making it sound like she didn't want Wheatley would (hopefully) accomplish two things. One, GLaDOS would think that making Chell take him would serve as a punishment to  _ both _ of them, making Her force Chell to take him. Two, it would remind Her that She wouldn't want to put up with him for very long because it would likely punish Her just as much as it would punish him. Or at least that's what Chell was going for; there was a chance that GLaDOS would see right through her.

 Chell obeyed. She turned back around and looked up at the camera stoically.

"If you want him dead, that's perfectly fine with me; but like I said before, I'm not a killer." Chell swore the camera's optic narrowed at her. "I'm going to leave him here. If you leave he dies. Not because I killed him, but because you didn't save him." Her voice was slowly filling with conviction. "That would make you a killer. A  _ real _ killer. You'd be killing another human being."

Chell glared fiercely at the camera for a moment before she bent over to help Wheatley up. He came to as she touched him on the shoulder, immediately recoiling from her touch and looking up at her with terrified blue eyes. Her expression remained stoic as ever.

"This is much better for everyone. I get to clear my conscience once and for all, you get to reunite with your old friend, and he gets to live another day. It doesn't matter that you two spent half your relationship trying to kill one another. Or even that he was the first person you trusted in years and he repaid you by stabbing you in the back and smashing you down an elevator shaft. I'm sure you've both changed for the better."   Chell and Wheatley exchanged a doubtful look.

"Do what you want with him. I don't care as long as you keep him away from here." 

 Chell nodded at the camera before she lugged Wheatley to his feet.

_  'I will.' _


	13. Sky

When Chell had told Wheatley to head towards the house across the street he had listened without hesitation, but when he realized that he was alone with two total strangers he began to regret his decision.

"Hello!"

These humans were much older than the children he had seen on his first outing with Chell. Wheatley would even go as far as to say that these were the oldest humans he had ever seen. Both of them had bright white hair, though the lady's was swept into a neat bun while the mans was short and thinning. They shared the same kind brown eyes, but the mans looked up at Wheatley from behind a pair of thickly framed glasses. 

The two of them were sitting together on the steps to their porch, and from the way they sat nestled together with their arms linked Wheatley gathered that they must have been a couple.

"Er... Hello!"

Suddenly Chell materialized beside him and the woman on the porch perked up, rising from her perch on the step and opening her arms.

"There's my Chell!" She gushed, trapping her in a hug while smoothing a hand over her hair. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Wonderful." Chell gave her the most brilliant smile Wheatley had ever seen. "And you?"

"Marvelous." The woman giggled as her husband kissed her hand.

"We're just out enjoying the fresh air while we still can." He piped up. "Soon it'll be too cold. We'll be trapped in the house all day." He wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders as she settled back beside him on the step.

"What are you two up to this fine evening?" The woman asked with a smile.

"It's a surprise." 

"Oh." For some reason the woman winked at Chell and, to Wheatley's surprise, she returned it. "Well then, we won't keep you."

"Have fun!"

They waved goodbye to the couple before turning and continuing to the end of the road.

"They seem nice." Wheatley smiled. "Who are they?"

"Wayne and Elizabeth." Chell said fondly. "Our only neighbors."

"Why do they live out here?"

"They like the peace and quiet." Wheatley turned back around to see them cuddled up together as they surveyed the scenery. "There's lot to do here, too. If you know where to look." The sparkle in her eyes told Wheatley that she did. "There are trails to hike, places to fish, places to swim. It's beautiful out here."

"Is that where we're going?" He asked curiously. This entire trip was the spontaneous product of Wheatley making a comment about the weather, only for Chell to turn around and give him one of those wonderful, terrifying I've got an idea and I'm dragging you along with me looks. 

"Something like that." Chell smiled, taking his hand. "I'll show you."

It took awhile but she did. Chell tugged Wheatley along a little dirt path through a forest he hadn't known was there. It was hidden, nestled behind the farm Chell had shown him previously. This path ran alongside the farm before it began to twist and turn around the trees. Chell and Wheatley were led through the trees, past quiet little streams, and walls of rock jutting out of the earth. By the time Chell announced that they had reached their destination the sun was setting and Wheatley was exhausted. Originally he had been sure that anything Chell had wanted to show him would be well worth the hike, but now that he was actually there he was beginning to think otherwise.

"A hill?" Wheatley asked bluntly.

"Yes." Chell smiled.

"We walked all this way for a  _ hill _ ?"

She smirked. "Try not to sound so disappointed." 

"No, no, I mean, it's fine. It's a very  _ nice _ little hill, its just that, I've seen hills before." Wheatley could tell that his voice was coming out as annoyed, and though he didn't particularly like it, he didn't change it. "There are a bunch of them  _ right by _ the house."

"I know."

"Then why are we here?" His arms flopped to his sides. "I don't doubt you- you make sense in the end- usually," Chell shot him a strangely amused warning look. "but I don't understand the point of coming all the way out here. For a hill."

"It's special." Chell said softly.

"Why?"

"Look." She pointed towards the top of the hill.

"I still don't see anything."

"Then let's take a closer look."

She took his hand again and led him up the hill.

Wheatley liked this gesture despite the fact that it wasn't quite as necessary anymore. Chell could easily speak and tell him where to go now; she didn't really need to lead him around like a toddler. But Wheatley enjoyed being lead around by Chell. For one thing he liked the contact. Her hands were so small and nice and soft, and he had gotten used to the feel of them wrapped around his. For another thing Wheatley was sure that, even with directions, he would be hopelessly lost without Chell showing him where to go. Or just without Chell in general.

When they reached the top of the hill Wheatley plopped down on the ground before Chell could release her hold on his hand, effectively pulling her down with him. She gave a quiet (adorable) little squeak as she landed in a heap on his chest. Before Wheatley could comment Chell quickly sat up and shot him a death glare. 

"Whoops." He offered weakly. 

For a split second the spark in her eyes ignited into pure fire and Wheatley was certain he was doomed, but then it flickered into something softer. She smiled down at him sweetly, her eyes sparkling, before she flopped down unceremoniously against his chest.

"Oof!" Wheatley coughed. She had about knocked the wind out of him.

"Whoops." Chell said innocently.

"That hurt! You're heavy!" Wheatley realized his mistake too late. "I mean, you're not heavy as in, well, fat, but you're still heavy. You still weigh quite a bit."

"Thanks." Wheatley couldn't help but notice that Chell was doing the thing where she sounded insulted and amused at the same time.

"Oh," He teased, "You know what I mean." She shook her head. "No? How about this then? You're perfect, and I'm just cross because I bruise easy. Fair enough?" He smiled.

"Fair enough." He couldn't see her face (as she was still sitting on top of him) but she didn't sound insulted.

"Alright." Wheatley nodded. "To give you and your hill some credit: it is nice out here. Very pretty." He turned to see how she would react to him acknowledging the fact that she was right, something he didn't do nearly enough, but he was quickly distracted when he noticed that she was smiling at him. Not one of her usual smirks or I'm-trying-to-suppress-a-laugh smiles, this was a happy, pure, open smile like the one Chell had given the neighbor earlier. She was practically radiating fondness. Chell had never smiled at him like that. Now she was looking at him strangely, too. Why was she looking at him like that? Had he been saying something? "Er... It's a very pretty little hill. Nice scenery. Lots of... Nature. Trees. Bushes. Shrubs." He looked away and scraped up a handful of leaves off the ground, eager to change the subject. "Leaves. Leave, everywhere, actually. What happened to them? Thought they were supposed to be attached to the trees."

"Not always." Chell twirled the stem of a leaf between her hands. "In Autumn there's less daylight, so the leaves change color and fall off. They're gone all winter and grow back in the spring."

"So does everything just... Die... In the winter?"

"No. It just... Goes to sleep for awhile." Chell looked up at the tress. "Everything comes back in the spring."

Wheatley had changed the conversation to something too depressing and now he was ready to change it again.

"We really should head home. It's getting dark out now. I have no idea how we'd find our way back in the middle of the day. Now we're going to have to hike all the way home in the dark." As he spoke he looked around and realized just how dark it really was and went into full panic mode. "Oh God! When did it get so dark? How are we going to get home? What if we get lost and never make it back?" 

"We won't." Chell sounded amused again.

"And it's getting cold, too! Remember what the neighbors said? It gets cold when the sun goes down. We could freeze to death out here!" Wheatley shuddered for good measure.

"We're going to be fine." Chell said, "Hush."

"Chell!" He whined. "It's cold!"

"Fine. Here," Chell removed herself from her perch on his chest and layed down next to him on the ground, snuggling into his side. "Is this better?"

It took Wheatley a full thirty seconds to recover enough to respond.

"Er... No? I mean- no!" He snatched Chell's hand up before she could move away. "I mean, don't move. You don't, you don't  _ have _ to move, if you don't want to. Just because this isn't much better in my opinion, don't let my, er, unhappiness displace you. You're perfectly fine right where you are. Unless, unless you'd rather sit somewhere else. You  _ can _ sit there. That's fine. You don't  _ have _ to sit there, if you don't want to, but, um-" 

"Wheatley," Chell rested her head on his shoulder. "I forgot to mention something."

"What?" He asked weakly.

"Look up."

He did, and he immediately realized why this hill was special.

Above this hill there was a gaping hole in the canopy of trees, which allowed anyone on the hill a beautiful view of the sky. Not only that, but it was far enough away from town that there were no lights to block out the stars.

So when Wheatley looked up he was met a view of the night sky that was somehow ten times as beautiful as what he'd seen when he'd actually been in it. There was hardly a blank space in sight. Stars were scattered absolutely everywhere, twinkling down at them happily from their perch in the sky. It was hard to look away.

Eventually Chell broke his train of thought.

"When you mentioned the weather earlier I knew it would be a perfect night for stargazing. There are no clouds but it's cold, and the cold helps make the sky look clearer."

"How on earth did you find this place?" Wheatley breathed.

Her voice was softer than usual. "I came here all the time when I was new to town." 

"Why?" He was looking back up at the sky now, so he was thinking even less than usual when he spoke.

"So I could see you." 

That got his attention.

Wheatley whipped around to see that she was smiling at him again, the same way she had been earlier, only now there was something a little more gentle about it.

"You're- Really?" He choked, "I-You-" He swallowed in an attempt to regain his speech. "You, you got out. You got out of There, you found a town full of people who, who obviously  _ adore _ you," He shook his head as she smiled. "You got everything you wanted- and you were still worried about me? After everything I did?"

"Yes." Chell said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I wouldn't have gotten out if not for you." She brushed her thumb against the back of his hand. "And That wasn't you. That was Her. This is you." Her voice was softer than he'd ever heard it. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." He managed, his voice cracking pathetically.

She smiled at him for a moment longer before she turned and returned her gaze to the stars. Wheatley didn't know if it was because he was tired or because he was distracted by what she had said or the view of the sky, but for some reason he couldn't look away from her. Chell looked more relaxed than he had ever seen her. She was laying comfortably next to him, smiling. Warm pressure at his side. She almost looked as though she was glowing, her skin giving off ghostly pale light in the darkness. It was almost as if the stars were having some sort of magical effect on her. Chell's eyes were always lit with some sort of spark but now they held the entire galaxy. The reflection of the stars in her eyes was much more beautiful than the actual view itself. 

Wheatley had never seen her like this before- never looked at her like this before- but now that he was he began to wonder why he was just now noticing all this. How could he have missed it?

Chell sighed, snuggling into his side as she shifted. "Isn't it beautiful?" 

"Yes." Wheatley murmured, but it wasn't the sky he was talking about.


	14. Opposite

 Wheatley awoke to the sound of Chell talking to someone else. She had left one of the windows in the bedroom cracked open to let some air in (they were having surprisingly warm weather for late autumn), but apparently said window also allowed for easy eavesdropping. Not that Wheatley would  _ ever _ purposely eavesdrop on Chell, he would  _ never _ , but if she had been the one to leave the window open, and it just so happened that Wheatley could somehow hear her conversation from where he was laying in bed, well, that wasn't his fault. Was it? 

"What do you say?" The voice was firm and teasing at the same time.

"Hello Michael." Chell giggled.

 Once the voice had a name Wheatley dropped eavesdropping and settled for spying. He sprang out of bed and plopped down beside the window to see a man with blonde hair and bright green eyes looking expectantly down at Chell. So this was the infamous Michael.

 "Nope."

 "Hi?" Chell offered.

 "No."

  She hesitated and when she spoke again her voice was softer. "Sorry?"

 "Sorry because?" Michael prompted.

 "You're so pushy?" Chell asked innocently.

 "Do you honestly think that's what I was going for?" Michael asked dryly.

 "Maybe."

 "Oh 'Shell," He sighed dramatically. Inside the house Wheatley made a face of disgust. 'Shell? That wasn't her name. Why did Michael call her that? "Why do you have to make everything so hard?"

 "It's fun." Chell smirked.

 Michael sighed again as he made his way up the porch steps and stood beside the porch swing Chell was sitting on. "Let's try again." He settled beside her on the swing and took her hands in his (Wheatley didn't like that either). His voice was doing the annoyed and amused thing that Chell's used to. "Why are you sorry?"

 "Because I left?"

 "And?"

 "I came back?"

 " _ And _ ?"

 "I didn't tell you?"

 "Bingo."

 Chell turned away and took her hands back. "I'm not sorry for those things."

 "Really?" Wheatley couldn't help but notice that the amusement was leaving his voice. "Because if I took off to God knows where and disappeared for a month without telling you I was ok, I am 100% sure you would  _ murder _ me. Yes?"

 Chell snapped back around with a fiercely determined glare. "Yes." 

 "But when you do it it's ok?" He poked her on the shoulder, seemingly un phased by the glare.

 "Maybe." Chell mumbled.

 "No. The answer is no." Michael lifted Chell's chin so she was forced to look into his eyes. His expression was serious but his voice was soft. "Would you ever forgive me if I did something like that?"

 Chell gave an exaggerated sigh. "Probably."

 "Are you sure?" Michael smirked. "You're pretty stubborn."

 "Me?" Chell pressed a hand over her heart and batted her eyelashes at him. Inside the house Wheatley almost fell over: that was the exact same thing Chell had done with him the day they had visited the farm. And that wasn't the only similarity. Whatever had been in Chell's voice that day, that sort of smug happiness she had boasted, this entire conversation was dripping with it. "What about this?" Chell offered. "Do I earn forgiveness if I tell you what happened?"

 "Maybe." Michael said teasingly.

 Chell shifted. "I went back There."

 And to think that Wheatley had disliked the conversation before. 

 As if it wasn't bad enough that this man was here sitting so close to Chell and holding her hands and making her laugh, it sounded as though he knew about Aperture, too. And if he knew about Aperture, he might know about what had happened there.

 "Really?" Michaels voice was a mix of apprehension and awe. 

 "Yes." 

 "And does your return have anything to do with... Something falling from the sky?" Wheatley froze.

 "Someone." Chell said quietly.

 "Someone." Michael repeated. "Is it who I think it is?"

 "Yes. And no." 

 "Uh oh." For some reason Michael had suddenly decided this was all very funny, because he was smiling almost uncontrollably.

 "What?" Now Chell sounded annoyed.

 Michael leaned back and smiled at her playfully. "You've gone soft, haven't you?"

 Chell looked insulted. "Soft?"

 "It's finally happened! 'Shell the mighty has fallen!" Michael snickered.

 "Will you hush!" Chell snapped as she smacked him on the arm. "She left him There to die! I am not a killer!"

 "She might disagree with you." Michael sang.

 (Wheatley pressed his hands to his face. Had Chell told him  _ everything _ ?)

 "And you agree with Her?" Chell asked stiffly.

 "Of course not," He took her hands again. "I'm just worried about you."

 "You don't need to be."

 "You sure?" Michael asked. "You may have done the right thing by saving him, but you're now living with a man who has repeatedly tried to murder you." Inside the house Wheatley was beginning to feel sick. "I don't take that lightly. You shouldn't either."

 "I don't." Chell smirked. "I'm stubborn, remember? I remember what he did, but I also remember that he didn't do anything bad until-"

 "Until he was given the option." Michael said solemnly. "He did what he had to do while he had to do it, but once he was given a chance to choose, he turned on you."

 "Absolute power corrupts absolutely." Chell said firmly. "I don't think that was him. It was Her." 

 "Are you sure?" Michael asked seriously.

 "No." Chell smiled. "But I haven't been sure of anything in a very long time, and I've still made it this far." 

 "That's why I'm worried." "You made it out of There and lived to tell the tale. You've got a shiny new life, a town full of people who love you, this lovely little house." For some reason Chell giggled. "I don't want you to lose it all." Wheatley could see him squeeze her hands. "Because of There. Because of him." To Wheatley's horror Michael looked at him square in the eyes, though only for a second before he turned back to Chell. His voice softened. "I don't want to lose you." 

"Now who's gone soft?" Chell asked gently. "I can take care of myself. Besides, he's been nothing but kind to me since he's been back. If he meant to hurt me he would have done it by now."

"Did he mean to hurt you before?" Michael asked quietly.

"We aren't There anymore, and you were never There to begin with." Chell said firmly. "I appreciate your concern, but you don't understand what happened then or what's happening now."     

"Right as usual," Michael sighed as he rose from the swing. "But I still don't trust him. I don't think you should either."

 Much to Wheatley's dismay, Chell didn't argue.


	15. Rip

Wheatley had no idea what was going on.

He was tired and broken and sore and at this point he honestly wasn't sure if he was still alive. His core was in terrible condition. His hull was torn and bent in so many places that it looked as though it had been constructed out paper, then attacked with a pair of scissors. He was fairly certain that something inside of him had snapped in half because he could no longer rotate his optic assembly, not that there would be much point in doing so when his optic was damaged so badly that his vision kept fizzing to static. 

The little core was in sad shape. He had been terrified of death and dying his entire existence, but at that point he was beginning to embrace it. 

Maybe even hope for it. 

"I'm... Dead." Wheatley stammered. The last thing he remembered was lying in the dirt on the surface after having crash landed back on earth. He remembered feeling mildly alarmed because it appeared that he had landed in some sort of field (a very dirty field. He could feel his systems being clogged up with soil and dust, as if they weren't already damaged enough.) and said field was on fire. Wheatley wasn't quite sure why the field was on fire (because of him, he later realized), but he knew that he didn't want to be on fire (he already was, he later realized), and if he was a in a field that was on fire and he didn't want to be on fire that probably meant that he needed to get out of the field. The only problem with that was that Wheatley couldn't move. He was once again confined by the laws of gravity (Wheatley so very tired of science), he did not have a rail, and he there were no nice ladies around to pick him up. Wheatley was stuck. 

Meanwhile his systems were more concerned with the fact that he (and they) had just fallen from space. Nothing was working, everything was broken, and there were no management rails or service stations for miles (they couldn't be expected to work under these conditions!). So, in a flippant, desperate move that Wheatley himself likely would have pulled had he been in their shoes, his systems decided to shut him (and themselves) down until he could be repaired. Preferably by someone else.

The last thing Wheatley had seen was a horrifying blue screen of death (something taken much more literally by AI) before he had blacked out. Now he was terribly confused. For one thing, he was no longer on the surface; wherever he was now was blindingly bright and blissfully silent- not that he was complaining! If Wheatley had to choose between a fiery death on the surface or a brief rest in a nice quiet room, he would choose the latter in a metaphoric heartbeat. The problem wasn't really where he was it was how he was: none of his systems had been repaired. His core was still the scorched mutilated mess it had been before. The only difference was that it was no longer on fire. (Which, admittedly, was an improvement, just not the improvement he had been looking for.)

So if Wheatley had been moved but not repaired, and no one who could have moved him was in sight...

"I'm dead, aren't I?" The little core breathed, sounding half terrified and half relieved, "I fell from space, and now I'm somewhere all shiny, and bright, and white, so... I'm in android heaven. As um, as opposed to android-"

"Hello." 

Wheatley froze, all thoughts of heaven immediately evaporating from his mind at the sound of Her voice. Needless to say, he knew where he was after that. 

Wheatley was in Her chamber. 

He was angled so that he couldn't see Her; only Her shadow on the wall he was facing. The little core watched Her shadow gently lull back and forth across the wall, then yelped as it suddenly passed over his core.

"Oh God!"

"Yes?" She purred.

He caught the joke but was too petrified to respond. She made no indication that she'd expected differently.

"I would say that your pessimistic behavior towards me is completely inappropriate considering the fact that I've just saved your life, however, I only saved your life so I could end it myself." Wheatley could feel the glare of Her optic burning into his hull like a sun. He couldn't decide whether or not it was a good thing he couldn't see it. "Does that make any sense to you?"

It took Wheatley a moment to realize that She expected a response this time, then another moment to choke one out.

"Um... No. No not at all, except for the part about you killing me, but to be honest I'm hoping I misunderstood that part as well." His lower shutter rose in a half hearted smile, which, when paired with the microscopic blue dot of his iris, only succeeded in making him look more pathetic and helpless than he already did. 

She hadn't thought that was possible; not that She cared.

"I brought you back so I could punish you." She said darkly.

"Oh." Wheatley squeaked. In front of him Her shadow returned to snaking back and forth across the wall.

"The lunatic and I mapped out your punishment in great detail while you were trying to kill us, but since then I've found a few flaws in our plan. For instance, if we put you in the room where all the robots scream at you, it probably wouldn't be long before you started trying to chat with them. They obviously wouldn't respond, but then, that's never stopped you before, has it?" 

By this point Her voice had turned sticky sweet. Not nice, happy sweet like honey, Wheatley thought but dark, nasty sweet like grape flavored cough syrup.

They both knew what She was talking about.

"No." Wheatley answered meekly, peering up at the wall in front of him.

"No." She echoed. "Still, spending a decade in a room where you'd never shut up would punish the robots much more than it would punish you."

He wanted to argue with Her, or beg for forgiveness or repair, or even ask what She had done to the lady, but some little voice in the back of his head told him it was pointless. Bombarding Her with questions wasn't going to disprove Her theory about him talking too much.

She continued.

"I thought about leaving you in space, but abandoning my technology to float out in the open for anyone to see or take made me worry it would be stolen, which punished me." Based on the way She said this Wheatley gathered he was supposed to feel guilty about it. He didn't. "So I thought and thought, and finally I thought of this." 

Wheatley shivered as the patch of floor in front of him suddenly began to disappear. Tiny mechanical arms snaked up from the eerily lit room below (what both AIs knew to be the core transfer room, which was far more frightening and menacing than either one of them could describe), greedily snatching up panels and dragging them back down into the darkness. An all too familiar core receptacle rose out of the floor in their place. 

"It's the worst punishment I could think of," She purred, "and that's saying something."

"What is it?" The little core asked, weakly eyeing the platform in front of him. Whatever She had in mind would undoubtedly be very painful if it involved equipment used for a central core transfer. 

"Think of it as another kind of core transfer." 

Wheatley blanched. Obviously he had already expected the core transfer bit, but one of the more important details of his usurping Her throne had just come careening back to him. Namely his first act as reigning king.

"Oh God, you aren't going to put me in a potato, are you?" He asked, his fear momentarily forgotten, "Because, I know I'm in no place to argue with you, but that would be a bit unoriginal. 'S been done."

"I'm not going to put you in a potato, moron." She hissed softly, Her voice an impressive mix of hatred and calm as Her shadow swallowed his core, "I'm going to put you in a human body."

Wheatley froze for a moment, and suddenly he felt much smaller, and broken, and helpless. His iris, which had shrank to about the size of a pixel, flitted up at Her shadow desperately. His shutters lifted in a forced smile as he offered a desperate, fake laugh.

"On second thought, I think I'd prefer the potato." He choked, "Can I be a potato? Please?"

"Turning you into a potato, while it would be entertaining, wouldn't teach you anything." She said smoothly, "Where's the value in a punishment without a moral seeded in?"

"That sounds great, really it does, but I learned so much in space- about how you and the lady were right and I was wrong- about everything-" He added urgently, "that I'm not sure I need another lesson. I think I got it all in one." 

She gave a musical sort of hum as a claw swung down from the ceiling.

"I highly doubt it." 

Before Wheatley could so much as blink he was snatched up from his spot on the floor and whisked into the air. The sudden movement caused his vision fizz out as an array of sparks popped out of his chassis. 

"Oh, God-" Wheatley gasped, still unable to see but able to feel that he was being moved, "Is this- Are you-"

" _ Surprise _ ," She sang, "We're doing it now."

"But- lesson!" He cried, choking on a simulated breath, "The-The lesson! I already learned the lesson, so I don't need another one!" He screamed, "I don't need this!  _ Don't do this! _ "

"You deserve this." She said softly. "This isn't as simple as right and wrong; this is about fear." 

At the word fear there was a sort of wave across the wall as all the white panels in the room flipped to grey. The bright white lighting was replaced by a soft red glow, and even the light of Her optic seemed to change shades with it.

The claw that held Wheatley carried him over to the core receptical, dangling him over top of it but not dropping him into it. He was safe for the time being. 

"Speaking of fear," She added, "Why don't we talk about her?" At the mention of the lady Wheatley caught himself looking for her (more or less literally) to come and save him. Unfortunately she was nowhere in sight, which meant that she was dead, or free, or being tested. Wheatley sincerely hoped it was the last one. "You were scared of her because she was supposed to die. Everything you did should have killed her. You're an idiot but even you knew that much." Wheatley couldn't tell whether or not that was a compliment. "The turrets should have made her bleed to death, the neurotoxin should have made her suffocate, and the explosion should have scorched her. When you saw those things fail all you felt was fear because that mortal little lunatic was going outlive you, and you were a God." She admitted this begrudgingly. "You thought that she was somehow unaffected by your attacks and your traps, but she wasn't. You did hurt her, I saw it." Wheatley couldn't help but notice that, for some reason, talking about the lady was making Her more angry than talking about the potato incident had. She had sounded annoyed then, but now Her optic was glowing brighter and the claw Wheatley was being held by was gripping him tighter and tighter by the second. "The turrets made her bleed. The neurotoxin made her choke. The explosion made her burn." Beneath Her anger She almost sounded pained. "You were so worried about her being immortal that you never noticed just how  _ human _ she really was." She shifted towards him, Her voice twisting. "Being human is  _ suffering _ . Did you know that?" Wheatley did not. The only time he had ever thought to apply the whole human thing to the lady was, admittedly, when he had tried to kill her. Before them he'd been happy to forget, or ignore, the fact that she could feel anything aside from happiness. "She had to worry about sleep deprevation, hunger, thirst, pain, emotions- but she rarely allowed you to see it. Not that you paid much attention." She shot the core a glare that made him flinch. "At one point she was lying on the floor in front of you, gasping for air, but you were too busy defending your power and screaming at her to notice. She was dying, by the way." Wheatley cringed, not because of what She had said, but because he didn't remember it. He didn't remember seeing the lady hurt or in pain; he remembered seeing her alive: he remembered being angry. Surely if he had hurt her that badly he would remember it, wouldn't he? Of course he had been mad at her at the time, but somehow Wheatley felt that seeing his lady hurt, and knowing that he was the cause of it, would have been enough to snap him out of his power craze. "She had just been blown up, she couldn't breathe, she was frightened." The core shivered with fear and guilt as his processors turned to ice: She sounded a bit too emotional to be lying. 

The two stayed silent for a moment as they thought over what She had said. When She spoke again the wavering emotion had vanished from Her voice, replaced with pure hatred. 

"That's the lesson you're going to learn." 

Wheatley yelped as the claw abruptly swung into motion, jamming him onto the receptical before snaking back into the ceiling. He wanted to try and roll away (at this point he was desperate), but the sudden movement and fear made his vision fuzzy with static, and before he could so much as blink his handles were clamped down with restraints. 

"You thought you knew fear before? You thought you knew pain?" 

 Wheatley began hyperventilating as the platform began moving down below the chamber to the core transfer room. He remembered how painful the last core transfer had been, but at least then, in a way, he had had the lady there with him, waiting for him on the other side. Now he was alone, being pulled down into the darkness by Her.   For a moment the platform stopped and everything was still.

"You were wrong." 

And then there was pain.

Wheatley screamed as what was left of his core was violently torn apart by an army of mechanical arms. They pried at his chassis until they pulled his handles off and cracked his hull open, revealing the mechanics beneath. Then they attacked those too. The little arms began rearranging the core's wires, removing some of them completely and attaching others to another machine nearby. 

"Now you're going to feel what it's  _ really _ like to be small and insignificant. You're going to feel what it's like to be  _ human _ ." She growled, "Now  _ you're _ going to feel what  _ she _ felt every time you tried to kill her."

During all of this Wheatley struggled against the restraints (to the best of his ability: he was only a metal sphere after all), but they held. Whatever those little arms were doing hurt far worse than the core transfer had. That had only broken his hull; this felt more like his conscience was being ripped from his core. This was more like there were two of him being pulled apart at the same time, and he could feel both of them. So Wheatley did what any sensible person would do in his situation: he screamed.

"HELP!" He wailed, "LADY! HELP ME, PLEASE! I'M SORRY! DON'T LET HER DO THIS TO ME! PLEASE! LADY!"

Half of him was far too focused on the pain to think about what he was saying; the other half of him remembered how the lady had been his first and only friend, and how she had managed to save him two or three times in the brief amount of time they had spent together. That part of Wheatley knew that she was the only person who could save him, and so he cried for her with everything he had.

"After everything you did to her, you still have the nerve to cry for her to help? Pathetic." Not surprisingly She was indifferent to his suffering. "She wouldn't help you even if she could hear you. She isn't the kind to forgive and forget. Trust me, I know." 

Wheatley felt something he could best describe as lag as his screams were stopped. He suddenly felt very weak and tired, but he was relieved as the pain dulled considerably. Everything ached but it no longer felt as though he was being ripped apart. He was almost beginning to relax when another platform spit him out back into the chamber above.

"There," She said happily, Her chassis arcing down gracefully to get a closer look at him, "Was that so bad?"

Wheatley was too busy trying to breathe to answer. He had somehow managed to catch himself before he landed on the floor in an awkward heap, but now his arms were quivering under his weight and his head hurt and he was trying to breathe and he was being forced to look down at his hands and dear God he had hands.

She was obviously amused.

"It suits you." 

Wheatley wanted to respond, however, when he attempted to speak he broke into a violent coughing fit which caused him to fall over as his arms gave out beneath him.

"Oh, don't worry, I didn't take your voice. I thought about it, though." She said smoothly, "Long term stasis can have a few... Side effects... On test subjects. Temporary loss of hearing, sight, smell, taste, speech, and life are a few of them. I wouldn't worry about it too much, though; I'm sure you'll be fine." 

Wheatley looked up at Her pleadingly.

"I'll give you a minute."

That was good enough for him. He collapsed back down on the floor, shivering and curling in on himself. He had been given a jumpsuit that was almost identical to the one the lady had worn, but the facility was still freezing cold. Wheatley lay there and tried to calm down, closing his eyes and steadying his breathing, and he almost managed to fall asleep before She sounded off an air horn of all things shattering the once peaceful silence of the room, along with the calm Wheatley had established in it.

"Alright. Your minute is up." She purred as he glared up at Her, "Time for part two of our little lesson." 

At that his glare melted away.

"Don't look so scared. I'm only doing what you did to her." Wheatley felt horribly guilty for thinking so, but that wasn't very reassuring.  "On a smaller scale, of course. I didn't have time to set up an explosion or fire a portal on the moon; I'm not even going to put you through everything you did to her: I'm not that cruel." 

Wheatley curled up on the floor again. Something about this whole being human thing, whether it was the actual procedure he had been put through or the emotions he was feeling now, was making him feel very sick.

"Just cruel enough to fill the room with neurotoxin then suck all the oxygen out." Wheatley turned green: She wasn't helping.

He had just figured out this pesky breathing business, and now She was going to go and fill the room with unbreathable air? Was that really necessary? Was She joking?

He looked up at Her dubiously, scrunching his eyebrows together.

_ 'Are you joking?' _

She shook Her head, Her optic narrowing.

"No, I'm not joking."

She wasn't joking. Much to Wheatley's dismay the air around him was quickly turning as green as his face had been moments before. Breathing was already hard enough (he'd only been doing it for about three minutes), now he was coughing so hard he could barely get any air in.

"I know, you can't breathe." She said, sounding unconcerned. "That hurts doesn't it? She went through the exact same thing, only she did it while running around, being blown up, and holding onto you. You can't even think. Your heart is racing, you're flopping around like a fish, you're so scared you're hyperventilating," At this point he couldn't see, or breathe, or even really move of his own accord. Wheatley was far too panicked to do anything but lay there and gasp for air. "You act like this one little thing is going to kill you; she went through it twice without batting an eyelash."

She watched him for a minute longer before allowing fresh air back into the room. Wheatley choked and sputtered over his breathing again.

"I could do this with everything you put her through. The betrayal, the fall, the test chambers." Anger began seeping back into Her voice. "Maybe that would teach you how badly you hurt her, or how stupid you really are. Maybe then you would understand why you don't deserve forgiveness." 

That wasn't what Wheatley wanted, not by a long shot, but after seeing how much he had made the lady (who had somehow turned out to be even stronger than he'd already seen her) suffer in the past thirty seconds, he would be lying if he said he didn't deserve it.

"Unfortunately I don't have time for that. Now that the lunatic is gone I can finally do some science in peace, and I'm taking advantage of it. I've wasted enough of my time on you."

Wheatley swallowed. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No." She suddenly sounded very tired. "I'm going to let you go."

"What?" He croaked.

"I'm going to take you to the surface." As She said this the panels beneath him began to shuffle. The next thing he knew a lift had appeared from the floor and he had been dumped inside of it. "I'm not going to kill you, but if you want to live out there you'll have to get up work for it. Lay around being useless like you are now, and you'll find your way to the afterlife without my assistance." Wheatley didn't find that advice helpful or reassuring. "I would help you to your feet, but really, I've helped enough for one day, haven't I?" The lift moved upwards and the world turned black. "You can do the rest."


	16. Itch

Chell did not know that Wheatley had "overheard" her conversation with Michael, but she did know that he had been acting strange and pouty all week and something was wrong. Usually when Wheatley found himself in trouble (which he did quite often) telling Chell about it was the first thing he would do, but after the seventh day of this strange behavior it was becoming clear that he was hiding something from her.

 Meanwhile Wheatley thought he was doing an excellent job of being secretive. Chell had not questioned him once all week, and since the week was nearly over he figured he had (somehow) made it into the clear. It wasn't that Wheatley enjoyed keeping secrets; he was usually absolute rubbish at it as he was such a chatterbox, and he hated keeping things from Chell, but for some reason Wheatley felt that keeping this particular secret from Chell was important, for both their sakes. 

 There was something about Michael that brought out the worst in Wheatley. He had only seen the man once, yet after that brief encounter his mind was stuck on how close he had been to Chell, how teasing his voice had sounded when he spoke to her, and how, for some reason, Chell didn't mind any of it nearly as much as Wheatley did. It made something inside his mind  _ burn _ . He knew what it was: that was why he didn't want to tell Chell. If she found out what Wheatley already knew, then all the rules would be reinforced, she would probably stop talking to him, and they would be back to square one. Besides, even when he tried to tell Chell he got all hot and fidgety and his words wouldn't come out (a problem he had never had before). For some reason it felt like telling her about this meant telling her about a lot of other things too.

 Chell watched him as she entered the living room with two steaming hot cups in her hands. This was a nice little ritual they had taken up since the weather had turned colder: in the evenings she would make herself a mug of hot chocolate and Wheatley a cup of tea, and they would huddle together on the couch and watch tv reruns or talk. Chell already knew which one they would be doing tonight.

 "What's wrong?" She asked softly as she handed him his drink. 

 "What?" Wheatley started so badly nearly spilled his tea.

 "You've been awfully quiet lately," She smirked, "What did you break?"

 "I didn't- break anything?" Wheatley sat up a little straighter, nervous. He was not very good at lying, and he had a feeling he would need to very soon. "I haven't broken anything. I'm just, I've been quiet. What's wrong with being quiet? I thought you liked quiet."

 She smiled into her hot chocolate. "Quiet doesn't suit you." 

 "So you don't like  _ me _ ?" Wheatley snorted, a teasing tone creeping into his voice.

 Chell chuckled. "I like you  _ most _ of the time." 

 "Yeah? And what about the rest of the time?"

 "The rest of the time you're acting like this." Chell said bluntly, poking him square in the chest with her free hand. "Self loathing, and brooding, and quiet. You've been like this all week. That's how I can tell that something is wrong." She shot him one of her determined, I'm-being-serious-and-you-better-not-lie-to-me looks for good measure.

 Wheatley quickly averted eyes to his tea. "Nothing is wrong, I'm fine."

 "Are you sure?" Chell asked skeptically.

 "Maybe." He squeaked.

 "Maybe?" Chell echoed.

 "You'll," Wheatley shifted away from Chell while looking down at her uneasily. Maybe it was her imagination but it looked as though his face was turning pink. "You'll get mad at me, if I tell you. You'll be annoyed." 

 Chell shook her head, offering a small smile. "I'll live."

 Wheatley swallowed hard. Obviously he was going to have to tell her something, but he didn't want to lie and he was afraid of her reaction to the truth. He decided to tell her the cause of his problem and hoped she could figure the rest out for herself. Perhaps if she did she could let him in on it.

 "I... When I woke up the other morning I heard you... talking to someone." 

 "And?" Her expression and her voice were morphing into something a little bit harder- more skeptical- and Wheatley could tell that she was expecting what he said next.

 "And... I may or may not have listened to your entire conversation after that." He offered a sheepish smile but Chell would have none of it.

 "Wheatley." Her shoulders bounced microscopically as she gave an annoyed huff of laughter.

 "Well! In my defense you left the window open. It's not like I snuck out on the porch or went out of my way to listen to you, I was sitting in bed." His face turned pink as she shot him another skeptical look which he quickly remembered he deserved. "Erm," Wheatley chuckled, looking down into his tea for guidance and not finding any. "Or at least, I  _ was _ sitting in bed until I decided to get up and sit by the window so I could ... Um... watch, too."

 " _ Wheatley _ ." The two syllables were laced with utter disappointment and he flinched at hearing them. "Here I am trying to convince someone that you're trustworthy, and meanwhile you're sitting there spying on us." Chell suddenly sounded very tired. "Do you not trust me?"

 Wheatley flailed so violently he nearly spilled his tea for the second time that night.

 "Of course I trust you!" He scoffed, looking down at her as dubiously as if she'd grown a second head. The last thing he wanted to do was make Chell feel bad, that's why he had wanted to keep this to himself to begin with. "You're not the problem!  _ He _ is!"

 "You've only ever seen him one time." Chell said as she rubbed at her eyes.

 "It doesn't matter!" Wheatley cried, "He was touching your hands, and your face, and your arm- at one point he practically had you  _ sitting in his lap _ ! Doesn't he know that you don't  _ like _ contact like that? How long has he been living in this town? Because I've only been living here for a few months but even I know you don't like-" 

 Something inside of him turned to ice as he met her eyes. Chell was looking up at him intently as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve. He could practically see the metaphorical wheels in her head turning as a smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes sparkled as her expression turned to something caught between alarmed and coy.

 "What?" Wheatley whined. His face lit up pink when she didn't reply. " _ What _ ?" 

 "Why does that matter?" Chell asked softly.

 "I don't know," Wheatley shifted, avoiding her eyes as his faced turned a deeper shade of pink. "I don't, I  _ like _ contact, but the way he kept shifting and moving around and poking and prodding you, just watching that made me uncomfortable. Fidgety. Like, like I should get up and do something about it instead of just sit there and watch. I'm not sure why, exactly, but I don't like the thought of, of you being uncomfortable. You being uncomfortable makes me uncomfortable." 

 His face was bright red by the time he finished speaking, but his answer seemed suitable enough for Chell because she stopped looking at him as though she wanted to pry him apart and look inside his head. Though he couldn't help but notice that her little smile remained.

 "I appreciate the concern, but everything is fine. Michael wasn't bothering me. He's a friend."

 "I'll say," Wheatley snorted under his breath. "He was being awfully friendly."

 Apparently he hadn't been quiet enough.

 "Wheatley." By this point Chell had traded disappointment for anger. Her eyes were lit up, burning with bright, hot determination, and he knew that he should shut up but he didn't want to. 

 "What? You can't tell me that didn't bother you one tiny bit. I won't believe you. If I did all that to you you'd probably knock me straight back to the moon, no portals necessary. But he does it and it's fine? Why? What's the difference?"

 "I trust him." Chell said calmly. For some reason that made her words sting even more.

 "Why don't you trust me?" Wheatley whimpered.

 Chell didn't give him a verbal response but Wheatley could tell by her expression that if she spoke she would ask something along the lines of  _ 'Do I really need to answer that?' _

 "Alright, I know why, but that was such a long time ago, wasn't it?" He tried to take her hand but she wouldn't let him. "I've been here for months now and I've been a perfect angel for all that time." That statement earned him an even more skeptical look from Chell. "Well, maybe not perfect, but you get my point. I haven't done anything horribly wrong, have I?" Maybe it was only his imagination but he swore her expression softened a bit. "I just, I thought things were normal between us again. I thought we were friends."

 "We are." She said gently. "You're right: you've been back for a long time, and in that time you haven't done anything to hurt my opinion of you. You've actually behaved better than I expected." Chell gave him a small smile. "It's not that I don't trust you; to be honest, I probably trust you more than I should."

 "Then what's the difference?" He asked quietly, trying his best not to sound whiny.

 "I haven't been able to trust you for very long." Chell said simply. "You have to understand that my relationship with Michael is different than my relationship with you because I've known him longer. I've trusted him longer." Wheatley shifted back and crossed his arms. "I'm ok with him sitting with me and holding my hands and even touching my face because there are years of trust between us. He's earned it." 

 They sat in silence for a moment before Chell's previous coy expression returned.

 "Wheatley," She asked softly, "Are you jealous?"

 He instantly turned red.

 "Jealous?" He scrambled, " _ Jealous _ ? Jealous of what? Jealous of him? Why would I be jealous of him?"

 "That's a good question." Chell said smoothly. 

 "I'm not- you're being silly, you are. I'm not jealous of anyone, I'm just trying to take up for you because I care. And then I'm rewarded with a lecture about how that bloke is wonderful I'm untrustworthy. Jealous." He scoffed, crossing his arms. His face was brighter than she'd ever seen it. 

 "Was that a no?" Chell smirked, her face still stuck in a smile she knew she shouldn't be boasting. 

 "Yes!" Wheatley snapped, "Yes to no!"

 "That's good." She rose from the couch, collecting their mugs and bringing them into the kitchen. "You really have no reason to worry over Michael, Wheatley."

 "What makes you say that?" Wheatley asked weakly.

 He couldn't see her face but he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was smiling.

 "He's married."


	17. Seize The Day

 Wheatley had been invited to the neighbor's house with Chell, but he was far too antsy to enjoy the visit. He couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with Chell about Michael and jealousy and trust, and somehow it was doing something to him, making him hot and red and fidgety like the day he had seen Chell with him. He tried to sit next to her but every time he looked at her his stomach turned to knots (she looked so at home here with these people, she kept smiling and laughing and  _ talking _ . Her voice was so light and airy and sweet. Her eyes sparkled when she spoke and he remembered how those same eyes had held the entire galaxy only a few weeks ago.) he found himself on his feet and pacing within less than a minute. The neighbors were trying to talk to him, they had invited the pair over so they could get to know him a bit, but Wheatley was not his usual chatty self and he brushed most of their questions off with one worded answers. 

 "Wheatley," Chell looked up at him with an amused expression and tired eyes. This behavior had been going on for about an hour now and he expected her to scold him. "You're making me nervous."

 "What?" He skidded to a halt, causing his hosts to chuckle. Wheatley wasn't sure why but for whatever reason they seemed to find him and his nervous little mannerisms endearing. His face turned pink at the attention and he looked down at Chell who was nestled on the couch. "Why?"

 "The pacing." She said softly.

 "Sorry." He mumbled apologetically, "I can't help it."

 "Yes you can. Come sit. Be social." She patted the empty cushion next to her and Wheatley moved to sit there until Elizabeth stopped him.

 "Michelle." Wheatley turned to see the older woman giving her a lightly chastising look from her place beside her husband. Her voice was like that of a mother scolding her child, and much to Wheatley's surprise it actually seemed to effect Chell, because her gaze dropped from his face down to her hands. "Be nice. You weren't always so social either, when you were new to town." Despite the fact that she was scolding Chell Elizabeth's voice was soft and sweet. She looked up at Wheatley with warm brown eyes. "Is anything the matter, dear?"

 "Oh, um, no." For some reason he found himself looking down at his hands. "No, nothing's wrong I just, um, I'm a bit tired. Just tired. Um, a lot's happened in the past few days, and I'm not really used to all this excitement. Not used to being around so many people, um, not that I don't enjoy it, I do, but, um, I'm just not used to it. It's kind of hard to get used to. Harder than I thought it would be." His gaze flitted to Chell before returning to his lap. "So, um, I'm really very sorry if I'm coming off as anti social with all my, um, pacing and quietness and all that. I'm not trying to come off as antisocial, that is not my goal, but I am sort of tired and lost in thought and... Well not to sound rude but I could use some fresh air." Once Wheatley finished speaking he realized that he had started pacing again and quickly stopped. 

Elizabeth gave a soft little laugh. "You can leave if you want to, Wheatley. Don't let us keep you if you don't want to stay."

 "Yeah," Wayne added, "If you're jittery, a nice walk might do you good."

"Are you," Wheatley tentatively looked to Chell for approval. "you sure?"

 "Go on." She sighed, giving him a tired smile.

"Thanks." He smiled, heading for the door. "See you back at the house then, yeah?"

Chell nodded and with that Wheatley left. Once he was gone Chell gave Elizabeth a slightly amused look that read  _ why did you do that.  _

The older woman snickered. "Oh, don't give me that look. I remember the first time you were stuck in a room full of people."

 "That was different." Chell said softly.

 "I don't know dear," Wayne chuckled, "You made it very clear to everyone involved that you wanted to leave."

 Wheatley was very happy that the neighbors had let him go. His mind kept telling him that the things he was thinking were dangerous, and thinking about them while being that close to Chell made him afraid she'd somehow read his thoughts. 

 They had been living together for a few months now, and everything had been going perfectly until that stupid Michael had shown up. They hadn't argued once since Chell started speaking, she'd started taking him around town more often and introducing him to more people, they'd even gone back to the farm to help the kids pick apples. Chell seemed to trust him again. In the past month especially she was much more open around him: smiling at him, and holding his hand, and curling up next to him on an almost daily basis. Wheatley loved it. He wanted to make Chell happy, and being around her made him happy. 

What he hadn't realized (until Michael came around) was that her being with anyone else made him  _ un _ happy. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Chell was right: he was jealous. It didn't matter that Michael was married (though it was a bit of a relief to know that he wasn't going to just swoop in out of nowhere and take Chell away); he still had a better relationship with Chell than Wheatley did. He wanted Chell to trust him like that. He wanted her to be so open with him that a complete stranger could see them together, take one look at them, and think  _ those two have good history _ . And he wanted so badly to tell Chell all of this, to tell her what it really meant, but it was too soon and too risky: he didn't want to lose what he already had in the name of something he could never have.

Chell would hate him if she knew, and if she hated him then he would hate himself.

Wheatley surveyed the street to find that wasn't the only person in town who was having a rough morning. One of the kids he had seen at the farm was pacing the streets, kicking up rocks and dust as he went. It looked as though something was wrong.

"Jake," He called once he was close enough, "Is everything alright?"

"Oh, hi Wheatley." The boy smiled up at him half heartedly as he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. Everything is fine."

Wheatley looked down at him skeptically. "That wasn't very convincing."

"I'm a bad liar." Jake sighed.

"Me too." Wheatley chuckled. "What's wrong?"

"It's... Um..... Well, do you remember Auburn?"

Wheatley smiled. "The little Chell with red hair?"

"Yeah." Jake blushed. 

"What about her?"

"I... Um... I've been friends with her for... A really long time... And I think I- I like her...  A lot... But I don't know if I should tell her." As the boy spoke he blushed and fidgeted and kept his gaze fixed on the ground. Wheatley wondered if that was what he looked like to Chell when was embarrassed. Speaking of:

"Wait, wait, wait," Wheatley thrust out the palm of his hand out in a stopping motion. "Go back. Rewind there. You like her?"

"Um... Yeah?" Jake replied awkwardly, his face turning a brighter shade of pink.

"Like,  _ like _ her like her?"

"I guess?" 

"How can you tell?" Wheatley's arms flailed beside him and if the look Jake was giving him was any indication he couldn't tell whether or not he was being serious.

"How can I tell that I like her?" He asked cautiously.

"Yes." Wheatley nodded exaggeratedly. Maybe, if he was lucky, he was completely wrong and he had nothing to worry about.

"Well... I'm just... Happy when I'm around her. I like spending time with her." 

"That's it?" Humans acted like love was a very complex emotion, but that sounded simple enough to Wheatley. 

"No." At this point his face was bright red. "It's not just normal happy, it's sort of stronger. And it's only when I'm around her." Suddenly his expression turned to something caught between coy and suspicious as he noticed that Wheatley had turned pale. "Why?"

Now it was Wheatley's turn to examine the ground.

 "Just wondering."

 "You're good friends with Chell, right?" Jake asked, smiling.

"I like to think so." Wheatley replied, staring at the ground a little harder.

"How do you think she would react if you told her... That?"

"Um..." Wheatley croaked, his face turning red.

 "That's what I thought." Jake said wearily.

 "Just because Chell and Auburn are a lot alike, that doesn't mean they're the same person. I'm sure Chell is a lot more unpredictable than Auburn." He laughed weakly, "Either that or you've got your hands full."

Jake snickered. "You're probably right. It's just that I've been friends with her for as long as I can remember and I don't want to ruin it."

 "I can understand that," Wheatley said softly, not sure where all this was coming from. "though if she's as similar to Chell as you say she is, I don't think that would happen. If she didn't like the idea she might be surprised or even a bit, er, "weirded out", but I highly doubt she would actually be  _ angry _ with you." 

 "Are you sure?" Jake asked skeptically.

 "Pretty sure." Wheatley nodded, dazed at what he was saying. "It doesn't make much sense that she would get angry with you when you're trying to do a nice thing. When you're trying to tell her that you care about her. Even if she doesn't particularly  _ want _ to be cared about. She would probably appreciate it even if she didn't agree with it."

 "So you don't think I have anything to lose?" Jake asked weakly.

 Wheatley looked down at him thoughtfully.

"Do you think she's worth the risk?"

 Jake smiled, his face tinging pink. 

"Yeah." He said with certainty, his previous coy smile returning as he looked up at Wheatley. "So's Chell."

Wheatley took his sweet time walking home.

 Chell was sitting out on the porch swing when he returned, gently swaying back and forth as she read. She looked relaxed, slumped comfortably against the swing with a light smile on her face. A few strands of hair had managed to escape her ponytail and they trailed behind her in the breeze. Wheatley took the liberty of watching her for a moment before he made his way up the steps. 

 "Hey...um... Chell?" 

 "Yes?" Sunlight glinted in her eyes as she looked up at him and Wheatley could feel his face turn pink as his stomach did summersaults. 

 "Can I talk to you, about something?" He asked weakly. "Can we go inside?"

 "Sure." She smiled up at him warmly as she stood from the swing. "What do you need?"

"Well, um," He swallowed hard as he tried to avoid her gaze. He closed the door behind them as they entered the house and he followed her into the living room. "Remember how the other day we had that talk about, um, trustworthiness?"

"You mean the jealousy talk?" She smirked as she sat beside him on the floor.

"Call it what you want," Wheatley mumbled to the carpet, "but it... Bothers me." He looked up at her guiltily. "I want you to trust me... and I realize that trust isn't something you can just switch on and off like, well, a switch. I can't... make you trust me again in the space of an afternoon, that would be nice, but it's not how it works. And if you don't trust me, that isn't your fault, it's mine. Though I'm sure that's already blatantly obvious to both of us, yeah?" He gave an awkward laugh as he looked up at her but she looked more concerned than amused. "My point is, I want you to trust me but I understand why you don't. I'm not mad about it. It's not your fault." He gave her a sad smile. "That being said, just because I'm ok with you not trusting me doesn't mean that I'm _ok_ with you not trusting me." Chell gave a lightly teasing smile as she crossed her arms. "I'm not mad at you, I won't hold it against you, but I don't particularly enjoy being, er, not being trusted. So I'm afraid I'm going to _have_ to get you to trust me, again, uh, _eventually._ " He swallowed hard as Chell took his hand. "How does one... Go about doing that, though? How do you get someone to trust you after they _have_ trusted you and you blew it?" She brushed her thumb against the back of his hand as he looked away. "I've been thinking about that for a long time. About three years now, to be honest, but a lot this week in particular." "I think I've finally figured out an answer to it... I'm just not sure it's an answer that either one of us is going to like." 

"What is it?" Chell asked softly.

"If.. If I want you to trust me," He swallowed, "I need to be honest with you. Even if I don't necessarily want to... Maybe even if I think the truth might upset you..." He looked up at her tentatively. "Does that make any sense?" 

"Yes." Chell felt him flinch as she touched his forehead. "Are you feeling alright, Wheatley? You look a little... Green."

"To be honest, you probably will too, in a minute." He said weakly, offering her a half hearted smile. 

 She blinked, resettling in her spot. 

"Ok." 

"Alright um, so I guess I'll just, um, spit it out, as they say. But first I really want to emphasize that this is crazy, and I  _ realize _ that this is crazy, and it's probably not something that I should even be telling you, but I trust you and I want you to trust me, so I'm going to tell you. Also, I don't um, expect you to er,  _ agree _ with this. As some might put it. You're probably not going to be one hundred percent ok with this, and that's completely understandable. I'm not sure I am either to be honest, but there it is. So. Do you still want to hear it, after all this? Cause I'm not sure I want to say it, if I'm perfectly honest. I think I'm starting to talk myself out of it. Maybe I should just-"

"Wheatley." She brushed her thumb along the back of his hand and he shivered. "It's ok. You can tell me."

"Ok. Um, Chell," He forced himself to meet her eyes. "I think... I'm in love with you."


	18. Crest

  Wheatley had always known that he wasn't the smartest man (core?) alive. The fact that he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box had made itself painfully clear on more than one occasion, especially the ones where She had ranted about how he was 'The Dumbest Moron Who Ever Lived' right in front of Chell. Wheatley was aware of all the things She had said, he had done his best to ignore them, but at the moment that annoying little voice that usually screwed things up was giving him the epiphany that _'If my mind was designed with the specific purpose of coming up with terrible ideas, and it's actually registering the fact that I just acted on a bad idea, and is being very vocal about how bad the bad idea was, this must have been a_ really terrible _idea.'_

  Wheatley gave Chell all of two seconds to respond to what he'd just said before he went into all out panic mode. His mind twisted Her words with her voice, painting endless scenes of denial, of insults and threats and anger and hurt- scenes featuring a Chell that really  _did_ hate him and wasn't afraid to show it. What he had just said, that couldn't- wouldn't- make Chell hate him... could it? 

He didn't want to find out. Once he had slapped together a vague course of action, Wheatley's voice kicked into high gear (not that it really had a low gear), starting with an embarrassingly high pitched laugh which his expression somehow matched (in fact his momentarily frozen expression was so intensely terrified that it very nearly read A Psychotic Clown is About to Stab You In The Back. Chell actually gave a cautious glance over her shoulder before returning her (slightly concerned) gaze to him), and quickly tried to undo whatever damage he may have caused.

  "Ok, ok," Wheatley started once he remembered how to use his voice, "I shouldn't have said that. I  _really_  shouldn't have said that, but remember, remember, I don't expect you to, er, agree, or, or, reciprocate, as it were. The point of this isn't to make you angry, it's not to insult you, or make you upset, it's just to tell you the truth!" His hands froze in front of him in defense, his bony fingers splaying out to create two shields as if she might punch him in the stomach.

  "I know." Chell said calmly.

  "No, I know you know (only not really because he was so panicked that for once he hadn't really heard her speak, it hadn't registered) but just listen, there wasn't any point in trying to keep it from you because you'd just figure it out like you always do and then you'd be mad at me for keeping things from you, 'Oi Wheatley, have you ever heard of this thing called honesty?' Yes! I have! And that's why I'm telling you this, because I want you to trust me and you can't have trust without honesty, right?" Chell gave a light frown at the desperation in his voice, but he was too busy (intensely) examining the carpet to see it."It's just- I'm sorry! I'm more sorry than I can put into words and God knows I have enough experience talking, but you hate me, I think, you still do, the only difference is that you're getting better at hiding it, and this could make you trust me more but it could also make you trust me less?" Wheatley's eyes met hers for a moment and she blinked at the misery in them. At her silence he started drooping (face first) towards the carpet like a wilting flower. "God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it. I knew I shouldn't say it even before I did but it just wouldn't leave me alone and-"

  "Wheatley," Chell's voice was gentle, and the sound of it stopped Wheatley from colliding with the floor. He looked up at her slowly, reluctantly, fearing whatever form of anger or hurt that may reside in her eyes, but she only gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know."

  "What do you mean you know?" Wheatley asked dubiously, shooting back upright so quickly he nearly fell backwards. 

  A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. "You gave it away."

There was another moment of stunned silence on his end, and he swore Chell actually laughed out loud at his expression. He hadn't planned for any of this. He hadn't imagined even one scenario in which she found This funny. Or in whch she knew about It before he said It.

  "I- I've been worried sick this entire week over how you would react- whether or not I should even tell you- I spent the whole day wandering around, practicing what I wanted to say, and worrying over how you would react if I told you, and you already knew?"

  "Sorry." Chell offered, smirking lightly. "You rehearsed that?" 

  "AUGH!" Suddenly Wheatley flopped backwards as if his bones had turned to rubber. He hit the carpet with a  _thud_ (it looked as though that might have actually hurt), his blue eyes looking up at her with pure misery. "Do you see what you did to me? I'm dead now. This is your fault." His voice matched.

"Did I kill you?" She asked, prodding his arm with her foot as she stood.

"Yes!" He wailed, snatching his arms away and using them to hide his face.

"I didn't mean to." Chell said softly, siting down in the couch.

"How are you so calm?" Wheatley cried, his arms flinging out beside him. "I didn't even want to tell you about this because I was afraid you would have some kind of an emotional breakdown or something! You'd throw me out of the house or take me back to Her or-"

"That's a little extreme." He swore there was a hint of disapproval in her voice.

Wheatley smiled nervously at the spark in her eyes. "You can be a little extreme."

"Only when I have to be." She smirked down at him, crossing her arms.

Chell was pretty. Wheatley hadn't really realized it until the night they went stargazing, but now it felt as though he were figuring it out for the second time. He was lying on the floor, limbs splayed out like some kind of (scrawny) animal rug. Chell had risen from her place on the floor (probably so Wheatley wouldn't hit her with all the flailing he was doing), and was now smirking down at him from her perch on the edge of the couch (Wheatley absolutely loved how Chell smirked. It was as though even her smile had to find a way to challenge everything around it). When he dared to meet her eyes he was pleasantly surprised to find that they didn't harbor the tiniest bit of resentment or pain; they were their usual sterling silver, the spark in them brighter than he'd ever seen. Still, he felt her current expression was similar to her I'm-about-to-break-something-that's-really-expensive-and-I'm-excited-about-it look. Wheatley only hoped that the thing she was about to break wasn't him. He noticed her expression shift (which meant she had caught him staring) and he quickly returned his gaze to the floor.

  "So are you... Ok... With this?" He fidgeted, threading his fingers through the carpet and avoiding her eyes. His face was probably as red as an apple, he could feel it changing color, but he still clung to the hope that he somehow appeared nonchalant.

   Though she appeared calm, Chell's voice of reason (which had been screaming bloody murder throughout this entire conversation) recoiled at the thought. It didn't matter whether she did or she didn't: she was from There, they were from There, and The Cake was a Lie. What did it matter? It wasn't safe.  

  "Well since you asked," She started, trying to think of a delicate way to voice her thoughts and not finding one, "No." For a moment she froze as he had earlier, realizing too late the harshness of what she was saying. When she glanced down at Wheatley he was as tense as if were about to strike him. She continued, her voice taking on a more timid tone. "Love... I think... loving someone is trusting them with your life." They both cringed and looked away from each other. Again Chell realized the sharpness of her words too late. "You and I don't have the best track record when it comes to trust. What happened happened over three years ago, and for all I know it wasn't even your fault, but it still happened."

  Wheatley wondered if there was any way humans had the ability to turn invisible, because right then he really, really wanted to. "Um... yes...  it did." Was what he said, but what he was thinking was more along the lines of  _'So if I hadn't turned on you your answer might be different.'_ That and _'I tell her I love her because I want her to trust me, then she tells me she doesn't love me because she doesn't trust me.'_

  One of the worst things about this conversation was that Chell did not sound angry. She did not sound defensive, she did not sound tired, she did not sound annoyed. Chell sounded skeptical. And gentle. Which mixed together into something that Wheatley could almost describe as pity. 

  "After all that, you've been gone for three years, back for maybe two or three months, and now this Already?" She looked so skeptical that she was almost smiling.

  "What do you mean?"He asked nervously, though if he was honest with himself he was already expecting her answer and wondering if it might be true. 

  "Wheatley," Her voice was so gentle and soft that his eyes drooped shut at the sound of it. "I think you wholeheartedly believe what you said, but I don't think it's true." She hesitated for a moment, cringing internally, knowing that there really wasn't a nice way to say this: "I don't think you know what you're talking about." Which was awful, but it was probably true. If Wheatley had spent his entire life up until now in Aperture, there was no way anyone could have loved him, nor he love them. Chell was almost certain that love in Aperture could not exist; the only exceptions ended in death. "Think about it. Up until a few months ago, everything you'd ever felt was simulated. Artificial. For as long as you could remember everything felt the exact same way." She was right of course, Wheatley thought as he stared at the carpet; not that he wanted to admit it. The closest thing to love he'd ever felt as a core was a very strong sense of self preservation. "Now suddenly you're in a human body with real, complex emotions, and there's a new dimension to everything. Everything feels so much deeper than anything you've ever felt before, and," For a moment Chell was silent and Wheatley wondered if she'd lost her voice (that would be the second time she'd lost it because of him, wouldn't it?). When she looked up at him there was caution in her eyes. "I'm the person you tried to hurt." Here his gaze snapped back to the floor, where he glared at the carpet with a vengeance. Had he possessed laser vision there would likely be a hole in the floor. Chell continued, treading carefully. "Now you spend most of your time with me, and, let's be honest, being around me probably makes you feel guilty and grateful and... You've never felt those emotions with this much depth before." 

  Carefully, not wanting to startle him, Chell placed a hand on Wheatley's shoulder to get his attention. He hesitated to look at her, and when his eyes met hers they were full of pain. It was her turn to examine the carpet.

  "You're just confused."

  She flinched as he jerked away.

  "But you said you knew!" He snapped, curling in on himself.

  Wheatley had known This wouldn't work out even before asking had become an option. He knew it was a bad idea, that he was stupid to even consider it... but of course some small, grotesquely optimistic part of him had pictured a much happier ending, of Chell's voice, sweet and clear and happy, saying "It's ok Wheatley, I forgive you. I love you, too." It was impossible, he knew it was. Those were words he doubted he would ever hear. And even though he deserved it it still hurt.

  "I knew you thought... you did."

  "What if you're wrong?" Wheatley asked. When his eyes met hers she was surprised by the determination in them. "What if I'm not confused? What if I do- know what I'm talking about?" Though even as he said it he knew it was hopeless: the number of times he'd been right about anything wouldn't fill up a single one of his scrawny hands; the number of times Chell had been wrong? Who was he kidding?

  "It's still not as simple as you think it is." For a moment she almost sounded angry. "I don't even know if we can- where we're from? If she knew? I don't want to know what she might do." She looked at her hands. "This is dangerous."

  Chell knew she must have really hurt him because he wasn't talking. Usually that was his first line of defense. 

  "I'm not mad at you." She offered with a half smile. "I'm not throwing you out, I'm not taking you back to her, I'm not stranding you on the moon."

  "Thanks." Wheatley mumbled, still avoiding her eyes.

  "I'm only saying that... what you want isn't as easy as you think it is." Her tone was gentle but her voice was firm. "For now, we keep things the way they are, because it's safer and we're getting better. Ok?" Wheatley wouldn't bring himself to look at her, but if he had he might've noticed that, just for a second, her smile turned into the one she'd worn the night of the jealousy talk. "Give it time." She said, patting him on the shoulder.

_'_ _It could have gone worse_ ,' He reminded himself, hiding his face in his hands as he heard Chell enter her room and shut the door. The door she hadn't shut since the night of the thunderstorm about a month ago.  _'Yes, it could have gone much worse. And it could have gone much better, too.'_


	19. Empire

It was a test unlike the shining white chambers of Aperture. Those had beckoned to be solved with musical pleas and cool blue lights fading to soft warmth; this was more like a test out of old Aperture: buried deep within Chell's mind, somewhere toxic and guarded and condemned. This test was much more like those, it was meant to remain the way it was left: fully functional, always running, and never solved.

It was condemned for a reason. Some tests were never meant to be solved. Some tests were so dangerous that just stepping into them, just looking at them, was enough to make to the world around you quake and crumble as easily as crumbs of the cake that was a lie.

This was dangerous territory. Chell should not be here. She knew better than to look, she knew better than to move, she knew better than to touch.  _She knew better._

Yet she knocked the condemned signs to the ground, she opened the vault, and she took a deep breath of the stale, toxic air.

There were more dangerous things in the world than turrets and neurotoxin. There were slow, silent monsters that could lurk inside of you, that could drown you in your sleep, or hollow out your heart, or wind through your lungs until you couldn't breathe. There were things like fear, and hate, and guilt. Anger. Regret. Remorse. Distrust. (It didn't matter what you called them, here they all went by the same name.)

These were the toxic things Chell had locked away in the deepest chambers of herself three years ago. These were the things that she caged because, try as she might, she couldn't destroy them. She chained them, buried them, and built up enough walls and condemned signs to keep everyone out, including herself. Because burying this, leaving it the way it was: raw, and screaming, and utterly unsolved, not wanting to know, not being able to cope with the truth, was a lot like giving up.

And Chell knew then, just as she knew now, that that wasn't something she would be ok with for very long.

She had finally reached that point.

The sight of the place, the feel of it, made her shiver. This was an Aperture of her own creation, which by some miracle of architecture was more gruesome than the original. While the real Aperture's walls may have radiated hate, these walls were built of it.

This was all that had been left of Chell by the time she reached Horizon. Tenacity, and hate, and fear. Sam, Jim, Elizabeth, Claire, Michael, everyone, anyone who tried to touch her, anyone who tried to help her, she gave all of them a run for their money. Because everything was alright, they were going to help her, they were going to get her out of That Place, but they weren't the first to say those things and she had not forgotten, could not, would not forget what had happened when she believed those words the first time.

She was a broken, dying mess, who spent everyday trying to fight the only people who could save her. In the end they had to break her apart to help her. They had to fight her, and break her, and put her back together, and build over what was left.

Which was this. This terrible place constructed of all of her strongest, darkest emotions, and a single question.

Chell was proud of what she was now. Above this raw mess she was built of stronger stuff, gleaming walls of stone and marble: independence, power, strength. She was proud of what she had become, of what Horizon had made her; but it was hard to admire because a castle build on splintering wood was sure to fall, beautiful as it may be. This part of her crumbled more and more each day, and eventually it was going to fall, leaving her to build (yet again) from the ground up.

Chell wondered if she could remove this piece of herself without hurting what lie above. She smiled a grim smile. No, this was going to hurt either way. She didn't care if she had to light a fire between her own ribs, this place was going to burn and smoke.

It wasn't hers at all; it was His. His empire built in her, on her, just like the original which was built on her mistake.

That Place was venom. Chell knew it was, yet when it spoke to them, to her,  _with its very own voice_ , Chell had listened to it without hesitation. Though she didn't want it, His empire (well, both of them) was just as much hers as it was His.

She was His, too, because she still hadn't managed to rid herself of Him.

Chell had released Her three years ago, after months of nightmares and hallucinations and hearing things when she was alone, she had decided that enough was enough and she purged what remained of Her, easily. It wasn't instantaneous but it happened much faster than Chell had expected.

Chell understood Her. She understood how She became what She was, what She had been before, why She acted the way did. She was a victim of That Place just as much as Chell was. She understood.

He was different.

He was not her Wheatley (or was he? Or did it matter? Because the words that He said, even if he didn't say them, were said with his voice?), He was the product of fear and power and hate. An example of how poisonous That Place really was, of how it could take something bumbling and innocent and transform it into a monster within minutes. Chell did know that much, but nothing beyond. Had something gone wrong during the core transfer? Had he been using her the entire time? Had he planned to turn on her? Did it have anything to do with Her crushing him? Was it even him? Was there any way She could have arranged the whole thing, stuck one of the Wheatley duplicates he ranted about under the floor and watched the rest? Or did he make a choice to turn on her?

Chell wanted to know, because even though knowing wouldn't change the past, it might change the future, mightn't it? If what had happened hadn't happened because of Her, because of There- if it had only happened because He was a part of him and not a part of Her, Chell needed to know. If there was any chance of Him returning, Chell needed to know. Because she liked to believe that she could help Wheatley. She had saved him from Her, and taken him in, and fed him, and taught him how to walk: she cared about his well being more than she'd like to admit. They were friends again. Chell wanted to say that she forgave him, that she trusted him (she was ready. She wanted to.), but she knew that couldn't be true if she were here. If Wheatley wanted her trust or anything more, then Chell needed to know that He was gone. There could be no future until the past was where it belonged. If this place existed in him too, for a different reason, they would need to take about ten steps backward before they could ever move forward. Chell would need to break him apart as she had been broken, and help him build over was left, and then maybe, maybe there would be trust. Or friendship. Or a future. Or whatever they were missing. But Chell needed to know before she could do anything. She needed to know what was there.

There was only one way to find out.

Cautiously, Chell took a step forward into the darkness. Treading lightly was an understatement when the floor was made of glass. She didn't look down; she looked ahead, ahead into the wall of darkness that lay beyond the open door of the vault.

Part of her had expected crimson eyes with scarlet beams to peer out from the darkness, would have almost welcomed them in comparison to what could be there, what should be there. What was there.

Chell's footfalls came to halt as a single blue light pierced through the darkness. She pretended that the walls weren't shuddering, that the floor beneath her was not cracking. She glared up at Him, the fires already begun in her eyes.

This was the last test That Place had left her, and it was the hardest of all. The one that could break her just by looking at it, the one that could drown her in her own thoughts.

Three years of waiting were long enough: it was about time Chell solved it.

Chell stood in His chamber, still burning after three years (she wouldn't have to start the fires after all); the difference was that the fires were no longer fed by Aperture: they were fed by the rotten wood that lined her ribs.

Her gaze was steady as her eyes met his optic, though the familiar color hurt her eyes. She couldn't speak here but He seemed to hear her question as she thought it.

_'Was it you?'_

He laughed, and the sound made the ground quake and the flames dance.

"You always thought you were so smart, didn't you?" Chell bared her teeth as He leaned forward. "If you're so smart and I'm such an idiot, then why are you here? Can't you figure it out for yourself?" He gave a bitter laugh. "You don't need my help. You never did." Had He been human His expression likely would have a menacing smile. "Tell me, which one is real?"

There were two (three?) of him standing in front of her. There was her Wheatley in the middle and one more on either side of him, though they all looked exactly alike.

They didn't sound alike.

The one on her left, or rather his voice, kept changing from timid to guilty to teasing to emotional to jealous to shy to just about everything in between. The one on her right was constant. Constant anger, and hurt, and blame.

"Yes you  _can_! You can talk! I'm not stupid!"

"Thank you, Chell. For everything."

"I was  _nice_  to you! I woke you up, and got you a portal gun, and, yes, I screwed up, but I fixed it, didn't I?"

"You.... trust me?"

"I broke you out and we took Her down... and..."

"I'm sorry. I thought... I thought I didn't have anything else to lose. But I was wrong, I had you. And you were more important than anything else."

"And then you turned against me."

"I shouldn't have pushed you to talk when I knew you didn't want to. You don't have to talk to me ever again. I wouldn't blame you. I don't deserve it."

"You tricked me into thinking we were friends, but then you turned around and took  _Her_  side."

"Did you try to pelt me with fruit because I called you  _stubborn_?"

"She was so terrible to you, I heard every word She said to you, yet when I finally did what  _you_ wanted, you decided that I was the bad guy!"

"I know you don't want me here in your room, but the thing is, any time anything is wrong, there's this little voice in my head, and it's always saying: find Chell! Get Chell! Because- No matter what's wrong- no matter how bad or big or small it is- you can always fix it. Always. You always make everything better."

"I was only doing what you wanted!"

"You, you got out. You got out of There, you found a town full of people who, who obviously  _adore_  you, you got everything you wanted- and you were still worried about me? After everything I did?"

"I was doing it for you!"

"He was touching your hands, and your face, and your arm- at one point he practically had you  _sitting in his lap_! Doesn't he know that you don't  _like_  contact like that? How long has he been living in this town? Because I've only been living here for a few months but even I know you don't like-"

"I was going to get rid of Her, I was going to help you escape!"

"I think... I'm in love with you."

"But then you changed your mind."

"What's the difference?" He sneered.

They spoke over top of each other but Chell recognized their words. She had heard all of them before, all of them recently. Listening to them (him? Him?) was hard because they all spoke with the same voice, the same voice with different words, and she had to decide which was more important, the voice or the words. Which was worse? What had been said or who had said it? Who  _had_  said it?

"Are you alright in there? Are you ok?"

Did it matter? Chell just wanted this to be over with, to forgive and forget. But you couldn't forgive what you couldn't forget and Chell could never, never forget this, this last test that could break her with a single thought, the only one she couldn't solve-

"Chell? Chell!"

It was a fourth voice. A third pair of eyes which were softer and bluer and more concerned peered down at her from the doorway of the room he was not supposed to be in. The two of them seemed to realize it simultaneously because she offered him a withered look and he responded with a sheepish one, splaying his bony hands out in defense.

"Oh, right, sorry! I know, rules and all, but, you were making these noises in your sleep-" He gave a nervous laugh, and though it was hard to tell in the poor light Chell could've sworn his face turned pink. "Not that I was listening to you sleep or anything, that sounds weird,  _ahem_ \- no, I was in my room, where you told me to be, and I heard you making these loud noises and so I got worried. And I asked if I could come in, you probably don't remember. Didn't hear me. But I did ask, I did, and you didn't answer and I thought something might be wrong so I just. Barged in. "He wrung his hands together when she didn't respond, his gaze still full of concern. "Anyways. Point is, are you alright? You ok? Because you look, well," He scratched the back of his head, wincing. "Not bad, but, um, like you're seeing double or something. And that's no good, is it?"

Chell sank down as he got closer, hoping her mattress might swallow her. She didn't want his attention, or his voice, or his touch. His concern. She wanted silence. She wanted to think. He wanted to talk. He  _always_  wanted to talk. And apparently he wasn't satisfied to do so from the door frame.

Wheatley was a good head taller than Chell, but the height difference had never bothered her until now. His shadow was an absolute monster, and with every step he took towards her she felt as though it were devouring her. In an attempt to make herself feel a little bigger (because at the moment she felt very very small), Chell sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her spine straightening instinctively.

When Wheatley reached her side he was still looking for a response to his previous comments, and his brow furrowed with worry when he finally realized why he wouldn't receive any.

"Oh love," Something in the gentle cadence of his voice made her want to cry like a child. "Can you not talk?" She shook her head the barest bit, avoiding his eyes. "You were having one of those, one of those nightmare things, weren't you?"

Chell knew what nightmares were and that had been much worse. That was something much deeper, much darker.

"That explains all the noise you were making. It must have made your throat lock up, too." His expression was a cautious smile as he looked down at her, his hand hovering over her shoulder. "Can I...?" He brushed his fingers against the soft fabric on her back but quickly recoiled when Chell flinched. Things were icy between them at the moment. After what he had said and how both of them had reacted, it seemed that neither one of them knew how to proceed. It was like they had moved backwards and now there was no safe way to move forward again.

There was a moment of silence before Wheatley spoke again, a grim smile now stuck on his face. "It wasn't Her, was it?" She looked up at him with an expression that could only be described as pitiful. "I'm sorry." He said softly." It's alright, you know? I would never hurt you, not now. Not on purpose. Not for all the money, or apples in the world." Carefully, gently, he sat down beside her and laced an arm behind her, pulling her into his side. "You're ok. I've got you." They both felt his face turn pink as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and after a moment he rested his head on hers, his voice even softer when he spoke. "It wasn't real. Who knows? Maybe it never was."

It was Wheatley, the real Wheatley, her Wheatley. As she sighed and shuddered in his arms she felt the place she had been before sink the tiniest bit. It wasn't gone, not yet turned to dust and ash, but feeling it beginning to slip away was a good start.

Chell knew the difference now.


	20. Color

 Everything faded in winter.

 In Autumn canopies of trees had been adorned with vibrant shades of red and orange and yellow; now they were bare and devoid of color, their previously bright leaves covering the once green ground in monotone brown. Where the sky had once been painted with gorgeous blues and pastels, it was now blotted with clouds until it was dark and gray. 

 Winter snuffed the light, and color, and sound out of everything outside Chell's little house every year, and she had come to expect it. What she hadn't anticipated was it doing the same thing to the inside of her home. 

 Her eyes had always picked up on things that other's did not. Her home was suddenly much darker, and colder, and quiet, and the changing of the season had nothing to do with it.

 The most noticeable (and in Chell's opinion alarming) change was that Wheatley's eyes were not as blue as they once were. Ever since their last talk all of the colorful (more like neon) little traits that made Wheatley, Wheatley had become as dry and dull as the leaves that littered the ground outside. It was like he was new to town again: Whenever he was around Chell he was cautious, and nervous, and weary of her. The difference was that now, instead of talking seventy miles per hour whenever she came into view, he avoided speaking to her whenever he could get away with it.

 Chell knew that his speech was his first line of defense, which meant that if he had stopped talking he had likely deemed himself unworthy of being defended.

 Though Chell knew the real reason why he wasn't speaking.

 A few nights after their last talk she had a very dark nightmare. It was the first one she'd experienced in a long while, and in a twisted sort of way, it had been about Wheatley. Chell reacted badly, which was to say that she reacted. Apparently she made a sound of distress in her sleep, which Wheatley heard and investigated. 

 Chell considered it ironic that she had a nightmare about him on one of the first nights without him curled up beside her. After his 'confession' she quickly relocated him back to his old room and reclaimed her own (not without a great deal of  pleading and complaining on his side), so in order to check on Chell he had to barge into her room. 

 Eventually she allowed Wheatley to hold her. She was nestled into his side, his arm slung around her shoulders, his head resting atop hers: He made her feel so much better. How had it not been apparent that he was her Wheatley, not Her Wheatley? What had she been worried about? If his intention was to hurt her he would have done it by now, and the fact that he hadn't was a good indication that What Had Happened wasn't his fault. 

 For the first time since his confession Chell felt completely calm and level headed.

 And then she saw the moon. 

 And suddenly his grip his was a bit too tight, and his eyes were much too blue, and Wheatley very quickly found himself on the floor.

 She would have apologized immediately had her voice cooperated. Chell hadn't heard his much since.

 The two of them were going to be trapped (more or less literally) in the house together for months once winter hit, and at the moment they could hardly even look at each other. Chell knew that something would have to be done to fix things before they got worse. 

 She snuck a glance at him as she nibbled on a piece of toast.

 Since Chell only saw Wheatley at mealtimes (he wasn't allowed to eat outside the kitchen/breakfast nook and if he didn't have to be there he would be as far away from Chell as possible- while still being in the house, of course) she decided that the best time to make her move would be at breakfast.

 She took her dirty dishes to the the sink, sat back down, and spoke.

 "I'm sorry." She said. And while Chell initially apologized for a very simple reason, afterward she realized that she was sorry for a great number of things. She was sorry for tricking him into thinking she couldn't speak, she was so so sorry for pressing that  _ god forsaken button _ , she was sorry that the cake was a lie, she was sorry she had pushed him away- literally and metaphorically, and she was sorry that she caused this rift between them. That she had made him feel new and scared and vulnerable all over again right after he'd finally begun to get better.

 Of course Wheatley didn't pick up on all of this, but the 'I'm sorry' alone was enough to make him choke on his cereal. " _ You're _ sorry?" He blanched, briefly wondering whether or not cornflakes could somehow find their way into the human lung, "Why're  _ you _ sorry?  _ You _ don't have anything to be sorry about!"

 Chell gave a sad little laugh: If only that were true.

"Did you want to stay here?" She asked gently. She tried to meet his eyes but he avoided her gaze.

 Wheatley edged away from her, guilt telling him she was only asking because she didn't want him around anymore. "What?"

 "Here in Horizon. Or just here... with me?" He swore her voice turned softer at the last part. "Did you stay here because you wanted to, or because you felt like you had to?"

 Wheatley blinked. In all honesty he hadn't really considered that there  _ was  _ an anywhere else. That there was someplace beyond Chell's cozy little home, beyond Horizon, beyond the stargazing hill. Beyond Chell herself.

 "I don't... No... I never thought about going anywhere else." He stared down into his cereal. "Why?"

 The reason why was almost silly. The day before she had decided to make one last trip to the east side of town before the season ended (it was still Autumn by the calendar) in order to add to her stock pile of winter supplies. While she'd been there the grocer's wife, Charlotte (who was a hopeless gossip), had inquired about Wheatley. Did he like Horizon? Did he plan to stay in town? Was he going to live with Chell, or was he going to move out soon?

 Chell hadn't asked him any of those questions. She had just assumed she knew the answers.

 "I feel guilty." She admitted. 

 "That's ridiculous!" Wheatley scoffed.

 It didn't make any sense, but what she was saying very nearly made him angry. Guilt was nothing to be taken lightly: He should know. It was heavy and sticky and awful, and, at least in his experience with it, it only clung to people who had somehow earned it. Chell was not one of those people. Her intelligence and her moral compass seemed to somehow be aligned in system of checks and balances so that if by some miraculous feat one was wrong the other would keep it in line. Everything she did was calculated, and precise, and careful. She didn't make mistakes, she didn't make wrong decisions. She didn't deserve to take the blame for his.

 She didn't agree.

 "Is it?" Chell asked skeptically, "I dragged you back here, kept you locked up in the house for a month, and even after that I hardly let you go anywhere without me." He could hear the determined spark of her eyes in her voice. "You're not a puppy, Wheatley, you're a person." 

 Was he? He wondered. Somehow he felt there must have been a difference between being human and being a person. It was probably a subtle sort of difference like the kind that separated looking from seeing, or hearing  from listening. They were very similar, they could almost be used as synonyms, but were they really the same? Could a former machine ever really be a person? Could a villain?

 Chell's voice turned softer. She smiled up at him sadly. "I've tried so hard to keep you safe that I've practically held you hostage here. What if you don't even like it here? I never even asked you if you wanted to stay here."

 "When you said dragged me back here I think you meant to say saved my life. Which isn't a bad thing in my opinion. Or hopefully yours." He mumbled the last part, and Chell's chest hurt when she noticed that he wouldn't look at her. "And all that other stuff- Well if it makes you feel any better I hadn't thought of any of that either. I don't-" He gave a sad little laugh. "No one has ever really cared about my opinion before." He shifted, looking up at her meekly. "Well, before you." 

 There was a moment of silence that Chell would've loved to fill. Unfortunately her voice decided that the exact same moment would be the perfect time to go on break, so instead of saying something meaningful, about how that was awful and she would  _ always  _ care about his opinion, she smiled polity in his general direction.

 Wheatley continued.

  "I like Horizon. The people here are nice, but not too nice. Not um, aggressively nice. If that makes any sense? They don't mind to give you some space, er, room if you need it." He peeked up at her again, this time managing to appear more bashful (maybe even affectionate, Chell noted) than small. "I like spending time with you, too. If I really wanted to get away from you that badly I'd have made a run for it by now."

 His voice was not the same, she thought. He did not sound curious, or happy, or coy; he sounded timid. Cautious. But perhaps he was a little braver for what they'd been through, because, at least for a moment, he managed to meet her eyes. In any case it was the most he'd spoken to her since their last talk.

 "I'm proud of you." Chell's voice was nothing but pure affection. "You've grown a lot since you came here."

 She hadn't meant to say that. It was the first thing she'd said in a good long while that she hadn't thought through, and she hadn't really expected it to come out because she thought her voice was still inoperable. That didn't mean it wasn't true, though. 

 "Oh." Compliments from her always caught him off guard- well, no, that was an understatement: Just the sound of her voice caught him off guard. Hearing that same voice sing his praises made him feel as though he'd melt to a puddle at her feet. For a moment it even made the guilt drop off his shoulders like a backpack full of lead. "Well, I finally have a good role model. An excellent one, really." 

 Wheatley fought the urge to smile like an idiot when he noticed that Chell was blushing. 

 "I wouldn't go that far." 

 "At least you're not a homicidal supercomputer." He offered.  _ 'At least you're not me.' _

 Chell nodded, her eyes sparkling. "I'll always have that." She bit the inside of her mouth. "I still feel like I've treated you unfairly, though."

 Wheatley frowned: Why did they have to come back to that?

 "You- Why do you keep saying that?" He asked, half smiling, half frowning. "You're not- I don't think you've ever made a single mistake in your life. In all the time I've spent with you I've never seen you make one mistake."

 Chell almost laughed before she realized that he was being serious.

 She frowned. "That's not true." 

_  'Button.'   _ Her mind hissed viciously.

 "Yes it is!" Wheatley said dubiously, "Humans created machines to be perfect, or so I'm told, but when we were back There, the only perfect being in the facility was you." He sounded so earnest that Chell didn't know if she should blush or smack him. "Every machine There was corroded or corrupt or selfish- and you were just, you were like sunlight." His gaze was full of admiration. "Even when I was still- a core," Wheatley managed, "even then you were so much better at everything than I was. Though that's probably not saying much considering that every aspect of my personality was designed to make me a screw up, right?"

 Chell's expression quickly morphed into one of horror and hurt. "Wheatley," She breathed. She tried to reach for him but he frowned and moved away.

 "No, no! It's fine! Completely fine! I'm mean, it's the only thing I'm good at, isn't it? Ruining things?" His eyes glinted bitterly. "I've failed at literally every job I've ever been given- including being an idiot, you'd think I'd pass that one with flying colors- I'm untrustworthy, I can't do anything for myself. And you," His voice softened as his eyes met hers. "you're strong, and clever, and careful. You always do what's right. You just- you don't make wrong decisions." He gave a huff of laughter. "You're perfect. The exact opposite of me." 

 For the first time she could remember Chell didn't speak because she couldn't find the right words. 

 "Am I listening to you, or Her?" She finally managed. Wheatley looked away.

 The more she processed how self derogatory Wheatley's comments had become, the more she realized that there was a certain story he might find interesting. This was not the talk Chell had wanted to have, and it was not one she would enjoy giving, but he obviously needed to hear it. 

 Wheatley noticed her demeanor shift immediately. Her spine straightened, her shoulders rolled back, her expression went stoic.   Chell looked as though she were about to enter a test chamber.

 "I never made it to town." She said. 

 He blinked. "What?"

 "I didn't make it to Horizon. I wasn't strong enough." Her voice was calm and level, and somehow she continued to meet his eyes. "I hadn't eaten or slept in who knows how long, I was in pain, it was the middle of summer, it was hot... " She closed her eyes. "I collapsed in the fields." 

 Wheatley looked for all the world as if he'd just seen the sun drop from the sky.

 Chell's voice turned harder. "I finally made it out of There only to fall at Its' door. She could have easily taken me back, if She wanted. I couldn't have done a thing about it." 

 There was a brief moment of silence that Wheatley filled with a nervous chuckle.

 "But-I'm sure you got back up, and you-"

 "No I didn't." Her gaze turned to ice. "Elizabeth found me. She sent her husband to get Sam-" It might have been his imagination but he swore he saw her cringe. "They were the first people I'd seen in years, and do you know what I did?"

 Wheatley did not.

 "I fought them." She said quietly. "No one had ever- I wasn't used to receiving help. Especially from people who didn't want anything in return. I wouldn't let them help me. I wouldn't even let them touch me." 

 There was something vulnerable in her eyes that made Wheatley think Chell was afraid of herself. Perhaps with good reason:

 "My own stubbornness nearly killed me." 

 He would have hugged her had she not worn her testing demeanor like a suit of armor.

 "I didn't know that." Wheatley said softly.

 Chell smiled at him, her voice turning light. "I'm human, Wheatley. You're human. We're human." She slid his hands into hers. "We're not perfect, and we're not supposed to be."

 "I know that, but-" He swallowed hard, giving her a pained look. "I'm really _ really _ imperfect. I can't do  _ anything  _ right."

 "There are many, many differences between There and here." Chell said, brushing her thumbs across the back of his hands. "Whatever you are There, it's what you have to be. What you're forced to be. You're confined by walls, or hatred, or turrets, or code. You don't get to decide who you are or what you do. You are what She makes you." She shook her head. "It's not like that here. You're free." Wheatley thought that must have been her favorite word: Her face lit up when she said it. "Here, if you don't like who you are you can change. You can try things, and learn things, and grow. And the only person who can stop you is yourself." 

 Something about Chell’s little speech made Wheatley’s chest swell as he followed her into the living room. He plopped down next to her on the couch, and much to his surprise she snuggled into his side.

 "You’re not an expert at the whole ‘being human’ thing? You’re still learning. I’m still learning.” Wheatley began to relax as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Just because you make mistakes, that doesn’t mean you are one.” She smirked up at him, her eyes glittering. “Do you think I would keep you around if you were?" 

 "Well," He sighed, nudging her gently, "You did just ask me if I wanted to leave."

 "That's right," Chell shifted at his side. "back on the topic of freedom: You don't have to stay here just because I do. You're more than welcome to stay if you want, I'm not asking because I don't want you to stay, I just wanted to let you know that you have the option to leave if you want. I could help you get to the next town before the first big snow hits."

 Wheatley was touched that Chell would go to all that trouble just for him, but he honestly couldn’t imagine living anywhere without her. And he didn’t want to.

 "I don't want to leave.” He smiled. “I'm perfectly happy right here with you."

 "Really?" Her expression was teasing but her voice was gentle. Wheatley might even venture to say it was happy: That she was happy that he wanted to stay with her.

 "Really." He echoed. "I can't leave you. You're just too nice."  _ 'Too perfect.' _ He thought, but there was no way she'd let him get away with using that word ever again.

 "Listen," Chell bent low and cupped her ear. "do you hear it?"

 "What?"

 Chell smirked. "The sound of Her laughing." 

 Wheatley swatted the air. "Who cares what She thinks."

 "Exactly." She smiled, squeezing his hands.

 His eyes were blue again.


	21. Metaphor

Time passed.

Winter came just as Chell said it would and before Wheatley knew it, Christmas had come and gone. The holiday introduced a few new elements into Wheatley's cozy life, including cold weather, sickness and a better understanding of the neighbors.

Right around Christmas the weather became so cold that Chell closed off the bedrooms and resolved to keep the fire going as often as she could, apparently disappointed with the performance of the furnace. Of course Wheatley didn't mind this at all: ever since he 'confessed', Chell had banished him back to his own lonely room (no cuddles for Wheatley), but them now practically living in the kitchen and living room meant that Chell had (reluctantly) granted him permission to sleep on the pull out couch with her. Which gave him a free pass to cuddle with Chell, in front of a cozy fire and under a mountain of blankets, on a nightly basis.

He had no complaints.

Unfortunately for both of them Chell was sick during Christmas Eve and Christmas, which meant she had to stay home. Whatever Chell had come down with wasn't serious, but it was stubborn: it took her about a week to fight it off, during which Wheatley called Sam (the doctor in town) every single day asking if she would be okay and if was she dying. When Chell finally recovered she wasn't sure who was more relieved.

Wheatley tried his best to give Chell a happy holiday despite her not feeling well, and if he did say so himself, he thought he did a pretty good job. Though he hadn't done it alone.

The people of Horizon absolutely loved Chell. The moment they'd learned they could help her they were ready and willing (especially that Michael fellow. Maybe he wasn't completely terrible after all...), and while Wheatley wouldn't say what the exact result of their collaboration had been (that was a story for another time), it had made Chell very happy. It had also taught Wheatley that the neighbors were willing to help him whenever he needed it, not just Chell. That was a useful bit of information to have on hand.

As for their own relationship, Chell had said to give it time, and time had seemed to help quite a bit.

There seemed to be something much more genuine about their relationship now. Before there had been more than a few layers of ice between them- mistrust, and fear, and resentment- but as those melted, they grew closer. In Wheatley's opinion things had never really been bad between them, but things were so much better now than they'd ever been before.

Thanks to a few months worth of work, they had slipped into a new routine in which Wheatley was able to help Chell with just about everything. If she was cooking he would scurry about gathering up everything she would need or fiddling with the counter top radio until he found something for them to listen to. If she was tidying up the house he would clean windows, or dust the furniture, or knock down cobwebs (or, to put it a bit more bluntly, tackle whatever she was too short to reach). If Chell needed to make a trip into town, Wheatley would tag along and help her carry everything.

This was a brilliant little system because not only did Wheatley finally get to be useful, he was also able to spend more time with Chell. And he couldn't help but notice that ever since he'd devoted more of his time to assisting her (and less of his time staring at her) Chell had spent more of her time smiling at him and laughing with him. Her faith in him seemed to be growing too, because every time he successfully completed one task she would offer him another (if he was up to it, of course).

Soon after they settled into their new routine Christmas came and went, leaving Wheatley feeling warm and fuzzy and excited for the New Year. Everyone else in town kept going on and on about these 'New Year resolution' things, and as soon as Wheatley figured out what they were he decided on his: From here on out his sole concern was improving his relationship- his friendship- with Chell. No more 'I love you' nonsense- because it was nonsense.

What right did he have to try and declare his feelings when he didn't understand them himself?   
When Chell finally started to warm up to him had been elated, instantly forgetting one very important detail: he had literally no idea what he was doing.

Who was he to go around declaring emotions to someone like her, he was lucky he had gotten away with it that as easily as he had before. No, Wheatley only wanted to make Chell feel as though she could trust him again. When she was with him he wanted her to feel nothing but safe and happy. And if he could do those things then he would certainly be improving himself along the way.

So far his plan had worked wonderfully.

Once they were finished with chores for the day the two of them would crawl into bed (the comfy pull out couch in the living room) and watch television or talk for a little while before going to sleep.

That was easily Wheatley's favorite part of the day.

Chell had most recently taken to reading before bed. Occasionally she would become so enveloped with what she was reading that she would stay up well into the night trying to finish it, and though Wheatley would always complain (cuddling with her wasn't exactly easy when she was trying to read) and try to stay up as late as she did, he always fell asleep before she turned the lights out.

Stubborn.

At the moment he wasn't tired enough to sleep (though he was too tired to fuss over her bizarre sleeping habits), so instead he chose to sit with Chell and watch her read: his right arm around her waist to hold her in place (he would not be abandoned for reading light, thank you very much) and his head resting on her shoulder.

As he surveyed the living room Wheatley thought that winter must've been the coziest time of the year. The fire kept the house warm, and filled the air with a smoky sort of wood scent that made him want to sleep. The light it provided cast a soft glow over the room, bathing the scene in warm orange light that made shadows flicker across the walls. Outside the window it was constantly snowing, leaving everything either covered in a smooth white blanket or encased in ice.

After taking a moment to appreciate his surroundings, Wheatley returned his attention to Chell.

"What are you reading?" He asked through a yawn.

Chell peered over at him, giving him a warm smirk. They both knew full well that he was reading everything she was. Chell suspected that Wheatley was only asking because he wanted to break the silence.

"Poetry." She replied, taking a grain of satisfaction in giving him the shortest possible answer to his question. Wheatley didn't seem to notice.

"Poetry?" He echoed, squirming next to her, "I think I used to know a poetry core. Very confusing." His eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to remember what poetry was. "Isn't that... Sappy, confusing, depressing writing? That rhymes?"

Chell laughed. That was certainly one way to look at it. "Not necessarily. Poetry can be uplifting. It can be deep and beautiful and enlightening."

Wheatley thought she probably said something else too, but he was too busy admiring the contrast of the fire in the ice of her eyes to pay much attention. For some reason he always found it fairly easy to get distracted whenever she was around.

"Really?" Wheatley asked, trying far too hard not to grin like an idiot.

She smirked, nudging him in an attempt to bring him back to earth.

"Really."

This was yet another lovely little change their relationship had undertaken: Over half of their conversations were now nothing but playful banter.

He nodded down at the book she was holding, nudging her back and copying her smirk. "Oh yeah? If this poetry stuff is so brilliant, then you shouldn't have any problem finding me a happy poem in that book of yours? Should you?"

Chell's smirk transformed into something brilliant, the spark in her eyes igniting into a blaze as she detected the challenge he was offering. She was easily the most competitive person he had ever met, almost fiercely so. She wouldn't just beat you; Chell annihilated her opponents. It seemed that competition was one of the few remaining outlets for the (extreme) skills she had acquired in Aperture. Wheately didn't mind her competitive streak at all; it was good for her and it was fun to watch. That was honestly the best part about challenging Chell to anything: Wheatley won just by watching her compete. And she didn't even know it.

"That's easy," Chell scoffed, already thumbing through the book, likely to some pre-memorized page number. "But you won't just take my word for it?"

His eyes glinted devilishly as a half sly, half reluctant grin tugged at his lips.

"Say apple."

Chell managed to laugh and look insulted at the same time. She jerked away, swatting at him (lightly but) viciously. "No fair!"

"Tell me about it." He snickered. "Ow!" He buried his face in the crook of her neck as she tried (and failed) to swat him away. "In my defense, I've been reading over your shoulder for a little while, and that last poem was- wasn't it?- about a man who spent every night sleeping in the tomb of his wife? Next to her dead body?" Blue eyes peered up at her nervously. "Isn't that- that's a bit, a bit creepy, isn't it?"

"That was a poem about obsession." Chell said, as if that somehow revealed a crystal clear connection.

"Alright..."

"I'll explain it later." Chell smiled, sitting up a little straighter. "Here is one of my favorite, happy, cheerful poems."

Wheatley rolled his eyes.

"Hope is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me."

Chell took a moment to enjoy the silence before she looked up at Wheatley, waiting for his deep, unique analysis.

"Why is your favorite poem about birds?" He asked, frowning.

"It isn't." Chell smirked, closing the book and tapping him with it gently, pretending to hit him with it. "It's a metaphor."

He smiled, puzzled. "What's that?"

Chell remembered a time when Wheatley would quickly become embarrassed if he didn't know something. Before, he would carefully examine the carpet, or turn bright pink, or try to talk his way around the subject as fast as he possibly could. Now whenever he didn't know something, or he realized he was wrong, he became curious. He wanted to learn. And Chell was happy to help whenever she could.

"It's a comparison that doesn't say it's a comparison. In the poem the author is comparing hope to a bird by saying that hope is a bird."

"So it's a poem about hope?" Wheatley asked carefully.

"Yes."

"Oh. Well that makes more sense."

As far as Chell was concerned metaphors existed in real life: Things that people did or said usually meant more than they appeared to. She thought about explaining that to Wheatley too, but stopped when she realized that a prime example was sitting right in front of them.

This- contact- used to bother her.

Their first few nights under the same roof had been... Stressful. Chell remembered that on one of the first nights Wheatley had spent in Horizon, in a fit of guilt, he had a bit of a breakdown. He was miserable, and tired, and no doubt frightened after everything he had been through, and she had been helpless to do anything but listen to him berate himself. At the time he truly believed that she hated him, and though Chell didn't she wouldn't speak to tell him otherwise.

In an attempt to calm him, and perhaps to clarify a few things, Chell offered what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. Even to her, her hand felt cold and heavy as stone. Inhuman. That peace offering meant to make them both feel better made her wonder if their relationship was truly beyond repair.

On another night, about a month later, he had sat beside her, taken her hands, and her voice had dropped like lead into some deep forgotten part of herself where she could no longer reach it. In that case contact lead to them getting in a bit of a nasty argument (though of course Wheatley was the only one capable of doing any actual arguing).

That what contact had felt like, what they had felt like together: cold and strained, broken, inhuman. That's how she felt around him for at least the first month.

Felt. Past tense.

Now- Chell actually chuckled to herself as she watched Wheatley, felt him leaning into her, over her, as he strained to read the book settled in her lap. Now they were here.

Now they spent every night curled up in a nest of blankets, tangled limbs, and warmth. Reading books, watching television, drinking hot chocolate, laughing. Now he spent the day holding her hand, or running his fingers through her hair, or holding her. Now he slept curled around her like a human cocoon, and made her feel happy and safe. Things were better between them now than shehad ever expected them to be.

"It's actually quite pretty when you read it like that." Wheatley said thoughtfully. "Do you think you can read a little more?"

Chell snuggled into his side as she picked the book back off of her lap. Maybe she understood metaphors a bit better than she should.


	22. Charm

 Chell wasn't exactly sure when she'd first realized it, but Wheatley could (occasionally) be very charming. He could also be very annoying (though she was well aware of that). And sometimes, in his own unique Wheatley way, he could manage to be both annoying  _ and  _ charming at the same time.

 This was one of those times.

 "Wheat _ ley _ ?" Chell crossed her arms as she turned to where he was sprawled on the pull out bed of the couch, wearing an expression that was suspiciously innocent. His demeanor changed into something much more sheepish when she spoke, though: That was her warning voice and he knew it.

 "Chel _ ley _ ?" He echoed cautiously.

 He flashed her (what he hoped was) and appeasing smile, but the bright shade of pink he was turning did not aid the nonchalant air he was going for. 

 Chell shook her head as she smiled down at him.

 "Have you seen my book?" 

 Wheatley pressed his palm to his chin in what was very obviously mock though. "Your  _ book _ ?" If the ridiculously confused tone he was using was any indication he had never seen (nor heard of) a book in all his life.

 Chell began to develop a creeping suspicion that  _ ‘Dear God, he’s up to something, isn’t he?’ _ as a tiny bit of patience drained from her patient smirk. 

 "Yes.” She nodded down at him exaggeratedly, trying not to crack a smile at how quickly his gaze was flitting about the room. Sometimes she honestly couldn’t tell whether or not he was being serious. “I left it right here on the corner of the bed, and now it's gone." 

 To alleviate any confusion that Wheatley might invent, she tapped the spot on the mattress where the book previously sat.

 "Huh." His thoroughly dumbfounded expression might make one think he’d watched it disappear himself (and Chell was certain he had). After a moment of thoughtful “hmmm”ing and intense staring at the mattress, he looked up at her with a very serious expression.

 "Do you think- is there any way your house is haunted?" 

 At that Chell’s expression turned flat. 

 Wheatley gave a very fake, impressively high pitched laugh when he saw her annoyed expression. Chell resisted the (very strong) urge to press her hands into her eyes as he shot her a smile that was half wince.

"I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but maybe a ghost or, or a spirit or something just magically entered your book, spawned legs, and climbed up to a very  _ very _ high shelf," 

 Chell looked up from staring at the carpet (and wondering why and how on Earth she’d ever left this man alone for more than five seconds) when she noticed that something other than nerves and forced innocence had slipped into Wheatley’s voice. This realization was a little alarming because the last time Chell had heard  _ this  _ in his voice hadn’t been much fun for either one of them, but there was no mistaking it; Wheatley thought that he was being  _ clever _ . He almost sounded proud of whatever he had done. 

 As his eyes met hers Chell couldn’t help but wonder if they were a bit too blue. 

 "where you'll never be able to reach it."

 Wheatley looked up at her slyly, and she tries a bit too hard to ignore the strange feeling that was beginning to settle in her chest.

 "A very high shelf?" Chell repeated slowly, eyeing him ever more suspiciously. 

 Wheatley always squirmed whenever she gave him one of her ‘warning looks’ (as he called them), but Chell couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t nervous squirming; this was more like the squirming of a child on Christmas morning. 

 He gave her a coy smile.

 "Yup. You'd probably need my help to reach it, and as much as I love helping you- it's easily my favorite thing in the world- I think that in this case I could better help you by, um, by  _ not  _ helping you. Do you catch my drift?"

 Chell briefly considered giving him the driest deadpan expression she could muster, because over the entire course of their relationship (whatever it was) he had made it very, very clear that he was excellent at talking, but it seemed as though he could only talk in  _ half  _ circles. After a brief moment of thought Chell decided to whip up one of her more charming, borderline flirtatious smiles to help get her point across. Wheatley’s face turned bright pink as she knelt down next to him, her face suddenly inches from his.

 When she spoke her voice was deathly soft.

 "If your drift was that you stole my book and put it where I can't reach it, then yes." 

 Though Wheatley was nearly certain that Chell was only playing, her eyes screamed  _ murder _ ; the sparks in her eyes had ignited into white hot flames, and he did not want to get burned.

 His immediate expression of open panic very clearly (read ‘Oh  _ crap _ .’ and) conveyed that (like most things) he hadn’t thought this through very well at all (The bright shade of red he turned at her proximity said something, too, but that was something they weren’t going to discuss at the moment).

 After seeing the genuine look of horror in Wheatley’s eyes Chell decided to tone things down a bit. While she had to admit that toying with him like this could be fun (especially when he deserved it), there was a difference between teasing and being mean. 

Allowing herself one last savory moment of glaring (poor Wheatley’s eyes had grown to the size of an owl’s) Chell gracefully rose to her feet. Her demeanor softened as she crossed her arms; she exchanged her sadistic smile for a gentle sort of smirk to indicate that ( _ no _ ) she wasn’t  _ really  _ mad. 

 "You know I own more than one book, right?"

 Wheatley had just witnessed Chell transform from the most innocent looking thing he’d ever seen to a killer that ripped ai to pieces and then set said pieces on fire, and back again. Needless to say he was vaguely terrified. 

 But of course he could still talk.

 "Well-Well maybe I put  _ all of them _ on very high shelves." His voice wavered a bit when he spoke, yet he somehow managed to look proud through his fear. 

 Though Chell had absolutely no idea why hiding her books was anything to be proud of.

 "Really?" Her eyes glittered as she registered the challenge he was offering, her fierce competitiveness actually visible. 

 Wheatley had never been very good at winning. It was hard to forget that there had once been a time when it came down to door vs. Wheatley, and the door had won by quite a lot. Sometimes Wheatley felt as though he was destined to lose at everything- or at the very least he was destined to lose  _ against  _ everything- because when it came down to water vs. Wheatley, or kitchen appliance vs. Wheatley, or gravity vs. Wheatley, he could tell you who the winner would be before the face off even began. 

 And yet despite all that he really, really wanted to win against Chell. Because this was far more important than books or pride, and he wasn’t fighting against her, he was fighting with her. Surely she would recognize the difference?

 He copied her smirk (though his may have been a tad more affectionate) as he leaned closer towards her.

 " _ Really _ ."  

 Wheatley could be stubborn, too; and this was as good of a reason to be stubborn as any. 

 He had been “collecting” Chell’s books for a few weeks now, and slowly but surely he’d found (what he hoped was) all of them. If he was realistic he could admit that she probably had a few more stashed away somewhere, but, really, how many books could one person own? 

 Her eyes never leaving his, Chell opened the drawer of the table beside her. 

 "Including this one?" She waved the book towards him haughtily as she watched his shoulders droop.

 Their poetry book. How could he have forgotten their poetry book?

 "Rats!" He snapped. "Can I just-"

 Chell stepped back as Wheatley lunged at the book in her hand.

 "Nope!"

 He miscalculated the distance by quite a bit, so Chell watched with mixed concern and amusement as Wheatley actually flung himself off the bed in his attempt to snatch the book away from her, and landed in a heap on the floor at her feet (Gravity wins again).

 Chell’s laughter was cut short by a cry of pain. 

 Wheatley hissed as he cradled his arm, which (now that Chell looked) he seemed to have landed on. His expression was one of genuine pain as his eyes met hers. “Okay,  _ ow _ \- time out, uncle, truce- that really,  _ really  _ hurt.”

 Chell dropped to her knees on the floor beside him as he shifted away from her. 

 "It’s alright. Let me-" 

 But before she could finish Wheatley was suddenly halfway across the room, and she was no longer holding her book. 

 She heard a triumphant “ _ Hahaha _ !” as he dashed down the hall (she was almost certain there was no way he could move that fast without sliding across the floor in socked feet) and slammed the door to his room. 

  " _Wheatley_!" Chell tried to hide the utter surprise (she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for that! How could she not have seen that coming?) in her voice by masking it with anger, which wasn’t hard considering the volume she had to use in order for her voice to (hopefully) reach him. "What's gotten into you?"

 "What's gotten into  _ me _ ?" He called dubiously as somewhere in his room another door closed (the closet, Chell thought dryly, trust Wheatley to come up with such an  _ original  _ hiding place). If she could think a little more clearly she would almost venture to say that Wheatley sounded insulted. 

 Not that she cared very much about his opinion at the moment.

 When Wheatley emerged from his room he was immediately aware that if Chell had been taller he would be _in_ for it. The dangerous look she was giving him very quickly reminded him that she was, in fact, a killer, and she was (as she had always been) perfectly capable of killing _him_ if she wanted to.

 It certainly looked like she did.

 Wheatley raised his hands in surrender as she began to slowly stalk towards him. He found himself walking backwards as she moved closer, her eyes void of any kind of light. She was actually mad at him ( _ really _ mad at him). 

 He suddenly realized that he might want to make an argument as to why his life should be spared (at about the same time that he realized he was trapped at the end of the hallway). 

 Wheatley had done this- stolen- er-  _ hidden-  _ Chell’s books for a very good,  _ logical  _ reason, but at the moment she was unaware of said reason. Revealing it to her might help his case, but it would also, almost certainly, hurt her pride.

 "Chell, love,” Wheatley’s voice was now nothing but nerves and earnest concern, “I have nothing but respect for you, really, and I don't mean to be a pest, but- you're- you're not taking care of yourself and I'm starting to worry about you!"

 Much to his relief, she stopped her slow descent towards murder. 

 Chell no longer sounded angry, but she wasn’t happy, either. "What?"

 Wheatley swallowed. She wasn’t going to like this.

 "You're-You’re staying up all night reading! Every night!"

 Or maybe she was.

 Chell laughed at his accusation. As per usual he was being dramatic and over exaggerating by quite a bit. 

 "Wheatley, I don't stay up  _ all _ night."

 "You stay up long enough." The stern disapproval in his voice surprised them both. "Listen. I know from, from There, that you can function with very little sleep."

 "Which is why I'm perfectly fine and you worry too much." Chell crossed her arms, the spark in her eyes turning stubborn.

 "Nope! No, wrong- that's why I'm  _ right _ \- you didn't sleep at all the entire time we were escaping, and you did an absolutely flawless job, but now, well-” He frowned. “you've been acting all...  _ funny  _ lately."

 Chell almost looked insulted. "Funny?"

 "Strange. Bad. Different. Not good." He gave her a worried look. "I saw you-you burnt your arm this morning!"

 Alright, that was true.

 Thankfully it hadn’t been at the fireplace. A burn from an actual fire likely would have been much more severe, but glancing her arm on the side of the oven had been enough to make Chell nearly drop the tray she was holding. And leave a nasty burn.  

 And of course she had to go and burn herself right when Wheatley was watching her. 

 He looked worried now, just as he had then. "You never make mistakes like that!"

 Chell shook her head.

 "I'm human." Her words were gentle but firm; this was something she often had to remind him of- something he would much rather forget (or at the very least ignore). 

 Wheatley didn’t like to argue with her-  _ hated  _ to argue with her- but this time she really was wrong and he knew it.

 "You're  _ tired _ ." 

 "Am not." 

 "Are too."

 “Am  _ not _ .”

 It struck him that the glint in her eyes was playful again. Chell was trying to brush this off as nothing. She thought this was funny- or she wanted him to.

 His voice turned softer as he captured her wrist. 

 "I'm serious about this." Wheatley tried to give her a serious look but she continued to smile as she shook her head. "How much sleep are you getting a night?"

 Chell smirked as she looked away.

 "Enough." 

 He tried not to smile.

 "And since when has enough ever been enough for you?"

 "I've had enough of this conversation." She looked a little less playful now. Wheatley could tell that she was beginning to get annoyed with him.

 Wheatley smirked.

 "Good, because you're going to sleep."

 And for the second time that night Wheatley moved before Chell could stop him, and he turned out the light. 

 Poutily, like a child being sent to timeout, Chell climbed into bed and retreated to her corner; as far away from Wheatley as possible. 

 It was much darker now but he could still see her thanks to the firelight. 

 For a moment or two they watched each other in silence. Chell eyed him with something between a glare and a thoughtful look as she burrowed under the blankets. Wheatley couldn’t help but think that she looked rather like a cat watching a mouse and debating over whether or not to kill it. 

 That must’ve made him the mouse.

 "Don't you give me that look." He took on one of her warning tones, but his voice was audibly laced with nerves (Still, Chell wasn’t sure whether or not she liked the fact that he was attempting to copy her. He’d done that several times tonight hadn’t he?). 

 "What look?" Her eyes glittered innocently as they reflected the firelight. 

 He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about that look put his mind in a blissfully dazed sort of haze that made him echo the question back to himself. 

_ ‘What look?’ _

 Wheatley answered them both. 

 "The one that very clearly says  _ 'I killed Her, so just think of what I could do to you if I wanted to' _ . It's teasing, I am aware. You'd never actually hurt me. You like me too much.” He teasingly scrunched up his nose as he added in the last part. He only said it because they were at the point in their relationship where he knew he could get away with it.

 Chell crossed her arms.

_  ‘Wanna bet?’ _

Wheatley cleared his throat as he shifted away from her.

**“** It is however still a bit... Creepy."

 Chell gave him a look of mild interest as she stretched. "It's also a valid point."

 Much to her surprise, he laughed. 

 "You know, you like to act all big and scary, but that's not really- well- it's not really you? Is it? I mean, granted, you  _ can  _ be scary when you want to be. You've definitely still got that going for you.” At that she shot him a weary look. “It's just that, I think I know too much about you now to be frightened of you anymore." 

 And at one time he had been very, very afraid of her. Wheatley had never actually told Chell about all of that, about how he had nearly left her behind out of pure fear, but somehow he was sure she already knew. She seemed to know everything. 

 Though at the moment she seemed a bit confused by what he was talking about. 

 "Like what?" She asked. 

 Wheatley wasn’t sure how he recognized it, because Chell’s voice rarely revealed any emotion that she didn’t want shown, but he swore there was the slightest bit of unease in her voice. 

 He gave her a smile that hoped was reassuring. 

 "You cuddle, and giggle, and read poetry." Chell managed a small smile as he gave her a look of open admiration. She would bet just about anything that his face was red again. "You're like that little kitten the twins have over at the farm: ferocious and cute at the same time."

 That was when her smile disappeared. 

 "I am  _ not  _ cute." As she said it she looked dangerous, and, honestly, pitiful. Which, of course, only served to make her look even cuter. 

 Wheatley shouldn’t have found it amusing, but for some reason he did. Her turning away from him so she could pout at the wall did not help.

 "That's true,” He said as she turned away from him (so she could pout at the wall), “Sometimes your stubbornness cancels it out." 

_ ‘Dear God, he’s beginning to sound like Michael.’ _

 "Like now." For the first time Wheatley really noticed how far away she was. "Why are you all the way over there?" 

 No response. 

 "O~h," Chell could practically see core Wheatley rolling his optic in a sarcastic arc. "Getting the silent treatment now, am I? Did I insult a certain someone by giving them a bedtime?" 

 Chell was beginning to wonder whether or not he actually expected her to answer him (or if maybe he was talking to himself).

 "You know, I wouldn't have to boss you around so much if you'd just take better care of yourself." 

 Chel stuck her tongue out at the wall.

 "Stubborn." There was fodness in his voice; teasing. Affection.

 Pleading.

 "Are you really going to sleep all the way over there?” He asked, loneliness seeping into his voice. “It looks like you’re literally dangling over the edge of the bed. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?” 

 Wheatley was very, very good at guilt tripping and or puppy dog eyeing (Chell didn’t care if it wasn’t a verb) Chell into doing things (or allowing him to do things) that she wanted no part of. All it took was a little bit guilt, a pinch of self loathing, and a dash of sadness, and Wheatley could get away with just about anything. And unfortunately for Chell, he was very much aware of it. 

 “You're going to fall off the mattress in the middle of the night and hurt yourself." Now he really sounded sad. "You can't cuddle with me, either. Not if you're all the way over there. You're gonna get cold." 

 Her voice was utterly smug.

 "So will you." 

 As far as Chell was concerned, she was allowed to be coy because it didn’t matter if she was cold; if he was cold too then  _ she still won _ . 

 Not for long, though.

 The not so stealthy sound of fabric sliding against fabric could be heard for a few moments before Chell felt an arm wrap around her stomach. She wanted to bury her head under her pillow (or maybe smack him with a pillow) as she felt Wheatley snuggle up next to her.

 " _ Wheatley _ ." She used another one of her warning voices, this one utterly exasperated, before promptly hiding her face in her pillow. 

 Chell may say she wasn’t tired, but she certainly sounded it.

 He offered her a peace gesture. It wasn’t really something Chell had taught him, but he had picked it up from her and tried it for himself once before after she’d woken from a nightmare. At first she had tensed at the contact, but she never said anything in protest, and after a little while the gesture actually lulled her back to sleep.

 Chell closed her eyes as Wheatley began to trace patterns onto her back.

 " _ Chelley _ ." His voice was soft but teasing as he copied her’s. 

 “You’re not mad at me, are you?” He asked softly. “Because- believe it or not- that was not my intention. Making you angry is _never_ my intention.” Wheatley gave a sad sort of smile before he remembered that Chell was facing away from him. “It’s just- You’re not programmed for this, you know? I mean, I’m not either, at least not in a traditional sense, but I’m better at it because it’s new to me and I haven’t spent my entire life surviving by… by ignoring my survival instincts.” Chell could practically hear his baffled expression. “How did you manage that?” 

 It seemed like a silly question at first, but the more Chell thought about it...

 Chell slowly turned towards him as realization began to dawn on her . Her expression could best be described as confused and slightly irked as she met his eyes. 

 “Oh, have I lost you? What I was trying to say is that when I come off all bossy- you know- ‘Chell have something to eat, Chell go to sleep, Chell stop reading in the dark’- I’m really just trying to, well, to sort of take care of you.” He looked and shrank away from her as he said it. Something in her Chell twisted at his words. “And I know that sounds outrageous- That dork thinks he can take care of  _ me _ ? He can hardly take care of himself!- but, well, not to be mean, but, you’re not very good at the whole taking care of yourself… thing.” 

 Chell bit the inside of her mouth until she tasted blood. 

 “I mean, think about it. Do you know how long you were… there?” 

 She didn’t, and after about four years it wasn’t worth worrying over. Though Chell wondered if Wheatley ever pondered over his time There.

 “I think about twenty years passed between the time you, um, decommissioned Her, and when I woke you up. I’m not sure how long you were There before that. I never read your file, but… you were There for a pretty long time. And in all that time, whenever you got hurt, or tired, or hungry, you just… ignored it. You had to. It a was great ability to have, then, because it kept you… you know, alive and all, but the thing is, you did that for so long that you got used to it. You’re still doing it. Have you noticed?” 

 Chell... hadn’t really noticed. Or rather, she hadn’t analyzed it in the way that Wheatley had. She recognized that she would often put off things like eating or sleeping if she was doing something that she deemed more important, even if she was hungry or tired; what she hadn’t realized was that this was yet another side effect of her stubbornness (that was a little unnerving, wasn’t it…?).  

  But the problem wasn’t that she  _ hadn’t  _ noticed, it was that he  _ had  _ noticed. Which was worse.

 His worry was evident in his voice.

 “You still don’t always eat when you’re hungry, or sleep when you’re tired, or admit it when you’re in pain.” 

 Something about Chell’s demeanor was very vulnerable. It was as if she was bitter that he had to remind her of This, because (to some degree) she may have been unaware of this problem in specific, but she would never forget nor escape it’s source. 

 It was like another night, months before, when they’d sat in that exact same spot and Wheatley had found a scar on her arm. He’d asked her about it, and brushed him thumb across it about as gently as humanly possible, but Chell had become so utterly caught in the shock of feeling such sudden vulnerability that for a moment she’d been unable to speak to tell him, yes she did know that was there and please,  _ don’t  _ touch it.

 He sounded apologetic now, just as he had then.

 “You’ve made a habit of ignoring those things- of not taking care of yourself. You didn’t have another option when you started it, but now you do.” His other arm found it’s way around her stomach. “So please don’t be mad at me. I’m not trying to boss you around, or be a pain in the neck, I just… I…” Chell noted the pause. He either didn’t know what to say or wanted to be very careful about how he said it. Both were rare occurrences for Wheatley. “You’ve been through enough.” They could both hear the guilt in his voice. “And I… I caused about half of it.” 

 She was nearly certain that he intended to say more, but she covered his hands with her own in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

 “I worry about you. Someone has to, right?”

 “And besides..." “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

_ Not so bad? _

 He had spent the evening lying to her, tricking her, pushing her to discuss things she clearly didn’t want to, attempting to control- to  _ manipulate  _ her-, and blatantly ignoring her attempts to  _ keep him away from her- _

__ No- he was worried about her, trying to take care of her because she wasn’t taking care of herself, and

_ ‘Yes it’s  _ terrible  _ because The Cake is a Lie, The Cake is a Lie, The Cake is a Lie-’ _

 For the first time in years there was another voice, a new voice, asking cautiously, hopefully,

_ ‘But what if it’s not?’  _

 Chell gave a sigh of defeat as she snuggled into his chest. 

 "Go to sleep."

 Behind her Wheatley smiled to himself in the soft glow of the firelight.

 He knew he could win.


	23. Chess

Far beneath the surface, in a place Horizon wished it could forget, She watched. 

She had spent a decent amount of time watching the little town ever since one of Her more... interesting subjects had entered it. Half of Her had expected her to burn the place to the ground just for the heck of it, just to prove she could, but it turned out that the only person she had trouble getting along with was Her. 

After monitoring her actions for a certain period of time She began attempting to predict how she might act: what she might do, where she might go. She made it a point to check on her every so often, even more so after… the other subject had joined her. 

Now that was something She really hadn’t expected. In the arsenal of words that could be used to described her, forgiving would not have been Her first choice. She was stubborn beyond description, she strived to do whatever was least expected of her- so She should have expected her to reclaim him almost as soon as the Shed spat him out- but at the time, She hadn’t.

She honestly didn’t understand how it were possible. The two of them had only teamed up in the end because their only other option was (quite literally) a fiery death. And while it was true that the subject and herself had never been on good terms (per say), the rivalry between them had not nearly been as personal as the rivalry between them. She had trusted him, he had been her first and only friend, and he had tossed her aside like a broken toy at the first opportunity provided. He repeatedly tried to kill her. She wondered if she had told him yet, that he very nearly succeeded. The Subject nearly lost her freedom the day she gained it because of him. 

And still she gave him his. 

Still she had saved him, still she had taken him in, still she forgave him, still she-

No.

She had Eternity, and those thoughts still weren’t worth Her time. There were currently more pressing matters at hand.

She was silent, lulling from side to side as She thought, delighted and horrified at Her latest discovery.

She knew Herself to be intelligent beyond compare, but even She had to admit that She couldn't in Her wildest dreams imagine some of the schemes that life created all on it's own. 

This was one of them.

Something was happening- well, no. Based on Her predictions something could be happening. Something extremely important could potentially happen, very soon, and most of the people who could become involved were not yet aware of it. 

This meant many things, but above all it meant that, if She could wait, if She could lie low for just a little bit longer, She could finally win. 

Just the thought of victory, of what it might cost Her, sent Her emotions into a tailspin.

‘Strategize.’ A voice in Her mind hissed, so smooth it was sharp, ‘You can’t afford to lose a fourth time.’ 

She made a sound of annoyance.

That wasn’t helpful; She knew that. What She needed was calm; She needed clarity to think of Something She could do to keep Her world intact through what was about to happen, and just the thought of her set Her on edge.

‘Pretend it’s a game of chess.’

Oh. That was much easier.

And perhaps a bit amusing, too.

‘After all, they’re only pieces.’

She instantly felt Her systems become flooded with a wave of calm, cold, logic. This was better; The situation could easily be broken down into queens, and kings, and pawns.

‘Pawns,’ The voice purred, ‘This could be a prime opportunity to collect new test subjects.’

She laughed, the grim sort of laugh she'd last used when she released the Subject. 

When it came to human test subjects She had learned Her lesson; they were unstable. She had no intention of becoming a root vegetable a second time nor dying a third time. She was happy to leave the humans be.

‘But this time you could-’

She cut the voice off.

‘Have you ever considered that, in chess, there are nearly an incalculable number of losing moves, yet only one winning move?’ The voice remained silent. ‘One is a very fragile number.’ 

And, God, how it was. Miscalculate by as little as .000000001 and you no longer had one- no longer had completion, no longer had a whole. What on Earth was 0.999999999 good for?

And yet as the voice reminded Her that these test subject would be nothing like her; these would be test subjects smart enough to test, smart enough to obey, but not nearly smart enough to escape- not nearly powerful enough to harm Her- She already felt the familiar tug of Think of the Science.

It wouldn’t be hard to convince Her. They both knew it.

Nevertheless.

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

‘Back to chess.’

Right.

The queen was of course the most useful piece on the board. Her movements were swift and deadly, and allowing her to slip through your fingers was always your best bet at losing the game. But you could never win the game unless you took the king. Useless as he may be. 

What, She wondered, would happen to the pawns, on either side, without their queen? Without their protector? The king and the pawns would be defenseless without a queen. And wouldn’t the queen be rendered useless without the king, effectively placing the pawns in the same position?

Who would fall first, the king or the queen? Would either fall?

Because this was interesting, this was a test in of itself. It could all be nothing (and some traitorous part of Her sincerely hoped that it was), but if it was Something- if one of Them was about to fall, about to crumble to dust and take the other down with them- She wanted to know about it. She wanted to know who was going to fall first, because a loss for them could (finally) mean a victory for Her.

And She knew that, if She was right, She wasn't the only one who spent that first night trying to strategize.


	24. Fight and Flight

 “I assume something’s wrong?” Chell sighed as she answered the phone.

 Michael snorted from the other end of the receiver. 

 “Well, hello to you, too. It feels like I haven’t seen you in awhile, ‘Shell. I’ve missed the lovely sound of your voice.” 

 Chell gave a slight smirk as she looked at a nearby clock. “I wish I could say the same.” 

 “ _ Ouch _ .” Her mind’s eye pictured him sarcastically clutching at his heart. “I can’t just give you a leisurely call at eleven o’clock at night to see what you’re up to?”

 “You’ve never done it before.” She rolled her eyes at Wheatley, who was sitting next to her (not so subtly trying to sneak an arm around her waist) and giving her an exasperated look. He had been fussing about her getting to bed late quite a lot lately, and she’d just been about to lay down when the phone rang. “Besides, eleven o’clock is dangerously close to my new bedtime.” 

 Michael snickered. “Let me guess, you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

 “Something like that.” Chell batted Wheatley away after he elbowed her in the ribs. “What’s going on?”

 At that Michael gave a tired sort of sigh.

 “Nothing you wanna hear. Especially not over the phone.”

 “What did I tell you?” Wheatley wasn’t sure what was being said, but Chell’s expression turned stoic so suddenly it was like watching someone flip a switch. He scooched closer to her as she frowned into the phone, then jumped away when her voice became edged with anger. “Why did you  _ call  _ me if you aren’t going to tell me what’s going on?”

 Fortunately for Michael (kind of), he had a great deal of experience when it came to dealing with angry Chells, so her threatening tone didn’t frighten him nearly as much as it frightened Wheatley. 

 “To tell you that I’m coming to your house to pick you up to  _ take  _ you to what’s going on.”

 Chell gave an annoyed huff of laughter as she looked down at her lap.

 “Lovely.” 

 “No glass slippers this time, okay? It’s too much of a hassle trying to give them back.” He joked (as he always did), but Chell knew now that it was false humor. A poor attempt at trying to lighten the mood.

 She smiled wryly into the phone.

 “If you insist.”

 After hanging up the phone, Chell thought for a moment before leaving her spot next to Wheatley. He watched with mild concern as she opened the closet door in the entryway of the house, and began taking out her winter coat and boots. 

 “What was that all about?” Wheatley asked. He tried not to sound it, but he was more than a little annoyed. Chell hadn’t been taking good care of herself as it was; she didn’t need someone dragging her out in the freezing cold in the middle of the night. 

 “I’m not sure, exactly.” Chell said as she pulled on her coat. “What I do know is that we live in a very small town where everybody’s business is everybody’s business, and phones are only used for emergencies.” Her voice turned quiet as she took another look at the clock. “Especially at eleven o’clock at night.” She attempted to clarify when she noticed Wheatley’s confused expression. “Usually if there’s some kind of important news, or an emergency, everyone in town will be called and told or meet up at the hospital where someone will host a meeting to tell everyone what’s going on.”

 Wheatley blinked. “There’s a hospital in Horizon?”

 For some reason Chell laughed.

 “Yes, but it’s nothing like what you’d picture.”   

 “Oh.” Wheatley tapped his foot as he watched her stand by the door. He hadn’t spent much time alone since he’d come to Horizon, and he didn’t like the thought of being without Chell. “So... you don’t know what’s going on?”

 “No. Though…” She examined the floor. “The people here know me a bit too well… and if they want to tell me something they know I don’t want to hear, they’ll usually get Michael to do it for them. And I seriously doubt the news is good if Michael wouldn’t tell me about it over the phone.” 

 It was strange to think that bad things could happen in Horizon. Here seemed like an almost literal heaven in comparison to There, the worst problem Wheatley had faced since arriving was an argument with Chell, but even that problem had been short lived. It seemed almost crazy to think that emergency could occur in such a peaceful little place (despite its proximity to other… Less desirable locations…). That, apparently, several had already taken place in Chell’s time here.

 After a brief moment of silence Chell offered what he now recognized as a fake smile. 

 Wheatley had realized rather recently that they were coming up on six month together; or rather he was approaching his sixth month here in Horizon. In that time the two of them had made a great deal of progress- they’d made it much farther than either one of them had ever expected to go- but it still disappointed Wheatley that Chell didn’t trust him fully. That at times like this, when she had to face something she didn’t want to, she would hide her emotions and try to tackle her problems alone. While he would admit that there seemed to be a little more transparency on the emotional front lately, it wasn’t because she had stopped trying to hide them, it was because he was getting better at reading them.

 Maybe if Chell was too tough to ask for help he could offer instead.

 “Do you- er- Should I come with you?” He winced at the awkwardness in his voice (which of course didn’t help), but he knew it couldn’t really be helped. This was a bit of an awkward _question_ , because they both knew it was Wheatley’s way of asking if Chell needed help. What he hoped she realized was that this was also his way of saying that she didn’t _have_ to face these things alone. At this point either one of them facing _anything_ alone was a choice, because, unlike Back There, they really were a team now. 

 Well, maybe.

 At his question Chell shied a little closer to the door. 

 “Thank you, but that’s okay. It’s cold out, it’s getting late,” She gave him a sad (or was that defensive?) smile. “and besides, I get the feeling you won’t want to be there.” 

 Sometimes Wheatley had to remind himself that this was yet another thing Chell had spent her entire life training herself to do. If he thought about it, blocking people out like this probably wasn’t even a choice for her anymore; asking her to snap out of these habits so suddenly would be like asking a fish to try breathing oxygen. That, and she rather enjoyed playing the protection card, especially when it came to him. 

 As if it needed it, Chell’s next comment added an extra layer of ice to the conversation. 

 “It’s not Her.”

 Wheatley very suddenly felt the urge to talk at 90 miles per hour. 

 “Oh! Uh, I didn’t really think that it was- why would She want to try and mess with you again after you’ve bested Her twice?- but, um, when I think Bad Thing, She’s, um, She’s the first thing that comes to mind.”

 “I know.” Her voice was warm; full of empathy. “But She can’t hurt anyone here.” Chell smirked, stubborn sparks glinting in her eyes as she crossed her arms (since when had that become a comforting sight?). “She would have to go through me first.” 

_  ‘Good luck with that.’  _ Wheatley thought.

 Before either one of them could say anything else two shafts of light slid across the front windows of the house, signaling that a car had pulled into the driveway.

 “Michael’s here.” Chell chuckled as Wheatley frowned. “Go to sleep. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” She paused for a moment before opening the door. Her expression was a bit more serious now. “If the news is anything related to… There- which I’m sure it isn’t- I will call and let you know. Okay?”

 “Okay.” Wheatley squeaked. “Hey, Chell?”

 “Yes?”

 “The, um, the last town meeting thing you attended, what was that about?”

 There was a shock of cold air as she opened the door, but at the sound of her laughter ( _ genuine _ laughter) something in his chest turned warm. 

 “What on Earth are we going to do about that thing that fell from the sky?”

\-------------------------------------------------

 Wheatley jumped up off of the couch when he heard a car door slam outside. It was about two in the afternoon, and he had begun to think that Chell wouldn’t make it home due to the snow that had covered the road. Needless to say, his smile hardly fit on his face when he saw her walk through the door.

  “Oh, there you are!” He resisted the urge to hug her as she stomped the snow off her boots. “I’ve been worried- well, no not worried because you told me  _ not  _ to worry- but I’ve been, er,  _ concerned  _ about you since you left last night. Didn’t sleep all that well, but, well,” He gave her a sympathetic smile that was half frown. “It looks like I slept better than you did.” Wheatley came to his senses when he noticed that Chell was frowning up at him. “Oh! Sorry, sorry! That was insensitive! I’m sorry!”

 “You’re fine.” She offered him a small smile, though she still didn’t sound very happy.

 He tried to give her a moment of peace and quiet as he watched her pull off her winter coat. Wheatley would hate to bombard her with questions right as she walked in the door, but there was a lot he wanted to ask her about. 

 Wheatley tried to sound nonchalant, something he wasn't very good at.

 “So. What was uh, what was revealed at your mysterious town meeting?”

 “Later. Please.” Chell sounded tired. “I’ve been up all night.”

 “Oh, right.” He gave a sheepish smile as he wrung his hands. “Ok then, well I’ll just go read in the kitchen for a little while and you can sleep on the couch. If you want to go change into some warmer pajamas, I can get you some extra blankets. You look cold.”

 Though Chell gave an appreciative smile, she shook her head. “That’s alright. I think I’m just gonna go nap in my room.”

 “Really?” Wheatley blanched, though he rushed to amend as Chell shot him a weary look. “Not-Not really trying to argue here, but you just got in from the snow- it’s below zero out there- and those rooms have been shut up all winter. It’s gotta be  _ freezing  _ back there.” 

 Chell gave a smirk.

 “I like the cold.”

 “Well, yeah, but-”

 “ _ Goodnight _ .”

 “Oh, um. Goodnight. I guess.” 

 Wheatley stared at her closed bedroom door for a few minutes, half expecting Chell to pop back out, laughing, ‘Fooled you!’

 She didn’t, though.

 That was concerning.

\-------------------------------------

 It was dark before Chell came back out of her room. 

 Sometime after she’d fallen asleep Wheatley had turned on the kitchen radio. Classical music was calming, and he absolutely hated silence. That, and reading while listening to classical music made him feel sophisticated (not that he would ever tell Chell a thing like that); which offered him some much needed reassurance when he was alone. 

 “There you are!” 

 Chell smiled affectionately at the sight of him, but cringed at his word choice.

 “Here I am.” Despite the fact that she’d spent the afternoon sleeping, she still sounded (and felt) exhausted. She wondered when that would start to go away.

 “I made you some dinner!” Wheatley enthused. “Well, made might be kind of a stretch considering that all I really did was take it out of a can and heat it up, but it's the thought that counts, right?” 

 He was talking too fast, something he only did when he was nervous. 

 Chell offered him a reassuring smile as he handed her a bowl. “Right. Thank you.”

 Aside from the sound of classical music, the house was silent while  **she** ate. She found it somewhat amusing that after his experimentation Back There he had actually grown to like this genre. She had to admit that it was calming. Still, something felt a little off about  **his** silence.

 “So I’ve been thinking,”

 That was more like it.

 Chell smirked up at him from her bowl of soup.

 “That’s dangerous.” 

 Wheatley was too happy at hearing her joke to take offense.

 “And since you were gone for most of last night, and kind of today, too, maybe we could just spent the rest of the day curled up on the couch?” Chell gave him an inquisitive sort of frown. “You just seem kind of tired, or maybe sad? Or- or something. Probably has to do with whatever news you got last night, and you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but-”

 There was a clatter as  **she** dropped her spoon.

 “ _ Wheatley _ .”

 “Sorry,” He yelped, ”sorry, off topic.” When he snuck a glance at her he saw that she had turned away from him. He tried not to sound worried. “Since you’re not feeling great would you like to just spend the rest of the evening reading with me? Might help take your mind off things. And if you want, I can read to you! Shake things up a bit, hm?”

 Chell hadn’t been gone for all that long, but Wheatley hated being alone and he had  _ missed  _ her. Things had felt off since she’d gotten that phone call the other night; he was ready to get everything back to normal. Maybe it was yet another Hopeful Wheatley Plan, but he hoped that cuddling and hot chocolate might be all it would take to fix it. 

 Perhaps that  _ was  _ a bit too hopeful.

 “I’m sorry.” Chell gave him an utterly guilty look as she bowed her head. Her voice was so quiet he hardly heard her speak.

 “What?”

 “I know I haven’t seen you very much lately, and I’m so sorry for being gone so much, but I… I feel like I should go back to the hospital.” 

 “Oh.” 

 He hoped he didn't look as disappointed as he felt.

 This must mean that whatever Bad Thing she had learned about was still happening.

 “Well, I mean, you do whatever needs to be done. Don’t let me get in the way.” Blue eyes looked up at her hopefully. “Is there, um, is there any way I could go with you this time, though? Maybe keep you company?”

 Chell didn't even look up at him.

 “You would be better off staying here.”

 His heart sank.

 “Oh. Okay. See you…?”

 “I’m not sure.” 

 This time she packed a bag.

\--------------------------------

 Two and a half days passed before Chell returned home again. It was the longest Wheatley had been away from her since he’d moved to Horizon. The previous day Chell had sent Michael over with some food (that had been a fun visit), but other than that he was completely alone for nearly three days. Being alone with nothing but silence for so long brought about bad memories. 

 About three years worth of them. 

 This time it took all Wheatley’s restraint not to launch himself at Chell the moment she walked in the door.

 “You’re back!” Wheatley cheered, “I missed you!” 

 That was the understatement of the millenia. 

 “I missed you, too.” She giggled. 

 She was genuinely happy to see him. A little of the light returned to her eyes as she smiled at him, and she was laughing again. That was good. Here lately it had seemed as though Chell looked and sounded a bit more tired every time he saw her. 

 Speaking of which...

 “Second verse same as the first?” Wheatley asked.

 Chell nodded before heading down the hallway.

 “Afraid so.”

 -----------------------------

 "Oh!” Wheatley jumped when Chell seemed to materialize next to him. She’d been asleep in her room for most of the day, and he hadn’t heard her come through the living room. Now he found her in the kitchen, her head propped up on her hands as she looked out the window, absentmindedly watching the snow fall. 

 “I didn’t know you were up.” 

 Chell gave no indication that she heard him. 

 He tried again.

 “You alright, love? You've been awfully quiet these past couple of days, er, well, for what little I’ve seen you."

 It took a moment for her to respond, but this time she shifted at the sound of his voice. 

 "I'm fine. Just tired." And she must’ve been, because when she spoke she sounded half asleep.

 Maybe it was because she’d spent half the week sleeping, but for some reason that alarmed him. 

Wheatley tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder as he moved beside her.  "You're 100% sure everything's alright? All week you’ve had this look in your eye like you've seen a ghost… and you still haven’t told me-"

 She shrugged him off, frowning up at him.

 " _ Yes _ , I'm fine." 

 Wheatley couldn’t help but notice that, in the past few days, she had either been apologetic or annoyed whenever she spoke with him. There was no inbetween. Why was that? 

 "Chell?"

  He joined her as she returned her attention to the snow outside.

 "Not right now, Wheatley."

 "I haven't even said anything yet!"

 "Can you-” 

 Chell stopped herself. The last thing she needed was to get into another argument. Despite how taxing it felt at the moment, she needed to be nice; especially to Wheatley. 

 She offered him the closest thing to a sad smile that she could manage. 

 “I just want to be alone for a little while."

 Wheatley frowned. Not to sound selfish, but how could she talk about wanting to be alone? 

 "You've been alone for most of the week." He retorted, something that neither one of them liked beginning to slip into his voice. "Or at least _I_ have: You haven't been here with me." Here his voice changed to something much more worried. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

 "Nothing is wrong." Chell pressed her palms into her eyes. She was beginning to miss the days when she lived alone. "I'm fine."

 "No, that's not fair. If I'm not allowed to keep secrets from you, you're not allowed to keep secrets from me." Wheatley’s voice turned gentler as he met her eyes. "And besides, you don't have to." He smiled at her. ”You can tell me anything. Really."

 Chell suddenly felt small, like a child reluctantly responding to an angry parent. She had taught him that. She wanted him to believe that, but she couldn't apply it here. 

 "I know."

 Wheatley tried for a laugh.

 "So what's the problem?"

 Chell wanted to bang her head on the table at the redundancy of what she was about to say.

 “I can’t tell you."

 His voice went flat.

 “You can’t.”

 “No.”

 She could already tell that this was going to end badly. The two of them bickered over little things plenty, and considering their past it sometimes took a great deal of restraint to prevent even those stupid little arguments from growing into full out fights. They weren’t arguing over nothing, now, and restraint was something that both of them seemed to be running dangerously low on at the moment. 

 Wheatley was already starting to sound angry with her.

 "What did they tell you the other day at that meeting?"

 Chell went back to watching the snow fall. This argument was a lost cause; She was beginning to wonder if she could do less damage by keeping quiet. 

 Wheatley though she was just ignoring him.

 "You've been acting different ever since you got that phone call a few days ago."

 Now Chell wanted to bang her head on the table for a different reason.

 "I told you, it’s  _ nothing _ . Don't worry about it."

 She said it, and she meant it, but she could tell even without looking at him that he was getting more annoyed by the second.

 "Why are you lying to me?" Wheatley exasperated. "Whatever happened is obviously not nothing if it's got you upset like this."

 "I'm not upset I'm just-" 

 Chell bit her tongue.

_  ‘Don’t yell at him.’ _

 It took a moment, but she responded with as much patience as she could muster. "You wouldn't understand."

 Her calm only made him more upset. 

 "Then explain it to me!"

_ ‘He’s yelling at  _ me _.’ _

 "No." Chell’s eyes were hard as they met his. "I know it feels like I'm being mean to you right now, and I'm sorry, but I can’t tell you what’s wrong and I want to be alone. So if you want to help, you can leave."

 "No." Wheatley snapped, and suddenly his eyes stung. "I'm a  _ person _ , remember? You can't just decide you don't want me anymore and toss me out. Someone else has already done that to me, in case you’ve forgotten."

 Alright,  _ that  _ made Chell angry. Maybe that comment had been a smidge unfair to him, but really, he  _ knew  _ that wasn’t what she meant. And was that little retort him attempting to make a comparison between her and Her, because  _ if it was _ … 

 "That is  _ not  _ what I was-"

 Both of them stopped dead in their tracks as an expression of horror crossed Wheatley’s face like a shadow.

 "Chell- Is this _my_ fault? Did I do something wrong?" He stepped away from her. "Are you acting like this because of something I did?"

 Most of Chell’s anger melted at that. It was a needed reminder that he really wasn’t trying to upset her; he just was worried about her.

 Her voice turned gentler.

 "No."

 "Can I help you?"

 Wheatley really did look worried. He must’ve meant that comment he made the other day about not sleeping well, too; He had dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there when this had all started. And his eyes- weren't they usually bluer than that?

 ‘ _ Look what you did. Look what you've already done.’ _

 "You can  _ leave _ ." 

 The glare she gave him came on so suddenly it was almost as if it were hiding something else. 

How many months had it been since she had looked at him like that? With that utterly disgusted  _ get-away-from-me _ look? How many steps backward had they taken in the past few days?

 Too many, but not enough for Wheatley to abandon her when something was clearly wrong. He could be stubborn, too.

 "I'm not leaving you here like this."

 Chell wasn’t sure where all of this emotion was coming from so suddenly but she could feel that she was letting it show, and she absolutely  _ hated _ it (another emotion she didn’t need).

 "Fine." The anger in her eyes (where had that come from? She had just looked guilty a moment ago, sad even, and now she was about to glare a hole in his head) was so strong that it very nearly resembled hate. 

 Chell stood from her place at the kitchen table, storming past Wheatley with rather impressive speed for someone of her height. He scrambled after her through the living room and down the hall, half furious, half terrified.

 "Are you- Are you really doing this?" He scoffed, and though he too was trying to keep the emotion from his voice, he was beginning to sound as desperate as he felt. "Why are you doing this? What's wrong? Why won't you  _ tell me what's wrong _ ?"

 If she’d owned a car, if it hadn’t been the middle of winter, Chell would have happily left the house. If she could have, she would have put the distance of the entire town between them, because, while she understood that Wheatley was only trying to help, he was making everything so much worse. He was making this so much harder on her already, and the easiest fix (the one that she needed now) would be to get away from him. The problem was that only place she could go where Wheatley couldn’t follow was her room. 

 But that didn't mean he wouldn't try, did it?

 She had only ever acted There because she had been threatened. She felt threatened now, too, when all she wanted was to get away from him (to the one remaining place that she could) and he followed her even here. 

 The same animal reflex that almost caused him to abandon her before made her lash out at him now.

 "You want to know what's wrong?" As she turned to face him she could tell that was afraid of her, and he could tell that she wanted him to be afraid. Now when she spoke she practically screamed. "I can't  _ breathe _ !" 

 Wheatley did not understand what was happening. She was  _ yelling _ at him, looking at him with an expression so cold that she hadn't worn it since they'd been Back There, since he'd stabbed her in the back. Where was his Chell and who was this? 

 The music that had seemed calming earlier now felt eerie and out of place. 

 "I have spent every day this week feeling isolated, and scared, and alone, and I'm trying so hard to fight it-" Her voice actually cracked as she took another step away from him. "because I can't show it to anyone, not even you- I'm about to hit my breaking point and you're the one who's going to break me!" There was open pain in her eyes. "You are  _ smothering _ me!"

 Chell looked furious as she spoke, as if she meant every word and more, but once it was out she appeared much more like a deer caught in the headlights. She froze, her expression very clearly reading  _ ‘Oh no.’- _

_  ‘No, I can still fix it-’ _

 -before she turned and slammed the door to her room. There was a soft click as it locked behind her.

_  ‘You are  _ not _ coming back.’ _

  Wheatley didn’t know what to say. It felt like he needed to say something, urgently, but he had no idea how to respond to what had just happened. The two of them fussed over little things plenty, but they’d only ever really fought one other time since he’d been back. That had been awful, the worst memory he had of here, but it hadn’t ended with Chell running away from him, yelling at him, and slamming a door in his face. 

 Another old memory replayed itself in his head.

 ‘ _ She's gone.’ _

 Cautiously, he took a step towards the door.

 "Chell, I-"

 " _ Don't _ apologize." She sounded utterly fed up with him. Wheatley recoiled from the doorway, a lump forming in his throat. Chell was the only person who had ever been nice to him, and now it seemed as though she didn’t want him around, either.

 If the Chell from There had ever spoken, this is what she would’ve sounded like. Wheatley was almost certain.

 He knew that he should try to do something- try to say something- but the only thing he could really think was that This Was Wrong, something was Horribly Wrong, and he didn’t know what to do to fix it. He was absolutely clueless. He had never seen her emotions like this. Had never seen her face emotions so strong that she actually failed at repressing them. That she lost herself to them.

 After a few more minutes of stunned silence Chell spoke again.

 "I'm sorry." She sounded as if she were on the verge of tears. "It's not you Wheatley, I promise. I'm not acting like this because of you. But please stop interrogating me. I'll tell you what's wrong when I'm ready. Don't sit out in the hallway and stare at the door all night. Take a nap. Find the kids. Read a book. Do something. I'll be ok, really. I just need some time."

 Dazidly, Wheatley returned to the living room and plopped down on the couch. He still didn’t understand what had just happened. 

 How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?


	25. Crumble

Another week passed, and things continued to get worse. Wheatley begged, and threatened, and pled, and whined, and snapped at Chell in an attempt to get her to tell him what was happening; Nothing worked. Things were getting worse between them by the day because he could not force himself to _ stop talking _ , and everything he said only served to make Chell more upset. All too soon it seemed they were once again nearing square one: There were times when stopped speaking to him altogether, and she began avoiding his eyes whenever they were in the same room. They fought more in that one week than they ever had in the first few months when he’d been new to town- more than when they couldn’t stand the sight of one another. Back then their problem had been clear; now Wheatley had no idea what was wrong. All he knew was that Something Bad was happening, and there was no end to the fighting in sight.

 He decided early on in that second week that he would leave if he could- and he actually made an attempt to- but the snow made any kind of travel virtually impossible. That, and the only neighbors they had were gone whenever checked. 

 So was Chell for that matter.

 She had left him alone again that week; this time for five days. It was late afternoon of the fifth day, and she still wasn't back. Wheatley hadn’t heard from her once since she’d left. Every other day Michael came with food (at least Chell wasn’t angry enough to let him starve), and a few days back the town’s children came to visit (how they got there he didn’t know) but other than that Wheatley was alone for nearly the entire week. He wondered if Chell kept leaving for longer periods of time because she was starting to feel less guilty about leaving him. 

He wondered if one day she might leave and never come back.

 But apparently that day was not today.

 The lonely silence of the house was broken as the front door opened, allowing a gust of frigid winter air into the house as it did so. Wheatley looked up from the book cover he’d been reading (dear God he was bored out of his skull), and he nearly dropped it as he watched Chell bow her head toward the crook of her arm and cough. 

_  ‘She’s gotten herself sick again.’ _

 Before all of this nonsense (or whatever it was) had started Wheatley had been trying to sell her on the idea that she needed to take better care of herself. After her having spent so much time There it seemed as though she saw any problem, emotional or otherwise, as something that needed to be hidden for her own protection. Feeling or expressing any sign of vulnerability made her see herself as weak, so  **she** would bottle her problems up until they revealed themselves through whatever health effect they may have (as they had now). Wheatley didn’t want her to do that to herself. He wanted her to understand that getting sick was okay, and taking care of herself when she was sick was better than okay- it was a good thing. So was sleeping whenever she was tired, or eating whenever she was hungry (he knew that sounded stupid but he had seen her skip meals more times than he could count, and he doubted it was because she wasn’t hungry. He wondered how many times she had done it just this week since he hadn't been around to call her out on it). Wheatley had hardly any insights on the whole ‘being human’ thing, and he meant no insult to Chell- she was brilliant- but even to him these things seemed trivial knowledge. Yet for some reason it had taken weeks of work and plenty of coaxing to convince Chell that doing these things was okay, normal even. And that he could help her deal with them if she would allow him to do so. She had begun to cave (she hated it when he made sense), too, and then the phone rang. 

 Now it appeared that was all out the window. 

 “‘Cold.” Chell elaborated as she yanked the snow covered boots off her feet. She glanced towards him, her gaze calculating (likely trying to gauge whether or not he was annoyed at her, he thought). “Sam already checked it out. I'm house bound for the rest of the week. I’ve been ordered to get more sleep and spend less time out in the snow.” Chell gave him a rueful smile, and though her expression was playful her eyes did not meet his. “You were right.” 

 That was something Wheatley certainly hadn’t expected to hear that day.

 “ _ Naturally _ .” He tried to sound suave (more like casual) but he fell flat. 

 An awkward silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Chell offered a nod and turned towards her room. 

 Something in Wheatley’s chest hurt as he watched her walk away. He didn’t want her to  _ leave  _ again, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, he just didn’t know what to say. Everytime he spoke he said the wrong thing. 

 “Hey,” Wheatley called, a bit too loudly. He cringed at his volume, face turning pink as Chell backtracked towards him. He continued cautiously. “I'm sorry for being so… Clingy lately.” Blue eyes glanced up at her sheepishly and she smiled down at him. “I really hate arguing with you, it's just that-” 

_  ‘No, no, no this is supposed to be an apology _ what are you doing-’

 “Chell- It’s nearly been a month now, and you still won’t tell me whats going on. You’re hardly ever even home anymore! I’m stuck here alone all day because you’re gone, and the neighbors are gone, and there’s snow everywhere. I’m trapped here alone all the time!” Wheatley tried to remind himself that the point of this wasn’t to argue with her, it was to make things better- but she’d left him alone for nearly a week- she never gave up on anything and  _ she was giving up on him.  _ He wasn’t half as angry about all of this as he was hurt. 

“Remember when you  _ cared  _ about that? About me feeling trapped?”

 Chell bit the inside of her mouth when she heard the pain in his voice. This wasn't his fault, yet it was becoming more and more evident that he felt as though it was. 

On the contrary, Chell thought Wheatley had every right to be mad at her; she was mad at herself. 

 “I’m sorry. I should’ve-” Chell cut herself off as she looked down at the floor. She needed to speak carefully or she might slip up, and that was the last thing she needed. She knew that Wheatley hated silence, and that she’d left him alone for over half the week now so he was likely eager for conversation, but in this case it would be best to say the bare minimum.  

 Chell tried again. This time she sounded less annoyed and much more gentle.

 “This isn’t your fault, Wheatley. I know I’ve been acting different lately, and I don’t like it anymore than you do. I just need you to understand that, every bad thing I’ve ever had to deal with, I’ve dealt with it alone up until now. I don’t know how to share the weight.” Her expression softened as she looked down at him. “And when it comes to you, I don’t think I want to.” 

 Wheatley looked up at her eagerly.

 “But I-”

 She cut him off, frowning.

 “I’m not trying to fight with you all the time, or shut you out, or ignore you, but this is the only way I know how to deal with things, and when I’m trying to… process things... and you come in asking me the same questions over and over again, that just makes it harder on me. Which makes me lash out at you, which makes you lash out at me, and then we’re both miserable.” She wondered if he understood that this was hard for her, too. That she was the one who had to actually keep This up, despite how much she hated it. This was taking a much bigger toll on her than she could ever show. “I know that you only want to know what’s going on, but if I’m not telling you something, you don’t want to know what it is. Trust me.”

 As she turned back towards her room, Wheatley noticed something in her eyes for the first time. He realized then that he’d seen it many time before; It only appeared for a split second before those sparks of tenacity lit her eyes, or she gave fake smiles or glares of annoyance, but this was much more important (and alarming) than any of those things, and now that he’d seen it he wondered how he’d never noticed it before. 

 What it was seemed obvious, yet he could hardly bring himself to say it.

 “You’re scared.” Wheatley finally managed. He sounded as taken aback as Chell felt, though she didn’t stop walking and he didn’t stop talking. Suddenly everything made much more sense to Wheatley. “You’re _afraid_ of something. Is that why you don’t want to talk about whatever is going on?”

 Chell’s pace slowed but still she walked away, and without acknowledging that he’d spoken.

 Wheatley was running out of options. No matter what he tried she was just going to ignore him- just like she’d been doing for  _ two weeks _ \- ignore him, and abandon him, and shut him out, and-  _ no _ -he wasn't going to let her do it again. 

 In an attempt to make her stay (or at the very least to make a point), he said something that neither one of them wanted to hear. 

“It’s Her, isn’t it?”

 “ _ Don’t _ !” 

 To his horror she moved to cover her ears, almost reflexively. Chell managed to stop herself before she actually did it, some voice in her head instinctively screaming  _ ‘You’re not supposed to do that!’ _ loud enough to prevent her from completing the action, but not before Wheatley saw her. 

 “Please,” She whimpered, “I don’t want to think about-” Chell stopped herself, the glint in her eyes springing from scared to panicked as she realized she was caught.

 Both of them froze, exchanging looks of open horor before Chell spoke again.

 She collected herself with impressive speed, her voice leveling out to something close enough to calm.

 “No.” 

 Wheatley sounded a bit more bewildered, and more than a bit concerned. 

 “What’s going on?”

 Chell may have been stubborn but even she knew when it was time to give in. Feeling more defeated than she would ever admit, she sank down next to him on the couch.

 Wheatley started (and very nearly yanked away out of surprise) as Chell laced her fingers through his; something she hadn’t done in weeks. He appreciated the gesture- he found contact reassuring and he’d been without it for about two weeks now- but he noted that, regrettably, it now felt much more alien than comforting. There was a bittersweet glint in Chell’s eyes as she looked up at him, and her voice reflected their melancholy. 

 "Remember when you thought I was perfect?" 

 For some reason that question made Wheatley sad. Yes, he did remember when he’d thought she was perfect, and it hadn’t been all that long ago. It felt as though a lot had changed since then. 

 Chell looked down at their hands.

 "Right now, I think you're better off not knowing what's going on, because- you aren't ready for it. And I'm not sure I'm ready to talk to you about it just yet." 

 She knew that she was being selfish (that she had been acting selfish for far too long, now), that she was trying to make this decision for him- trying to influence what he wanted based on what she wanted (or at the very least what she thought was best for him)- and that she had no right to do so. 

_  ‘Who are you to speak of  _ Freedom _?’ _

 Chell blinked.

 "But I won’t make your decisions for you.” There was obvious hesitance in her voice. “If you really want to know what’s wrong, I'll tell you."

 She was scared.

 There were certain aspects of being human that she had wanted to explain to him delicately- as carefully as possible- and over time. She had hoped that some of the cons of being human wouldn't make themselves quite so painfully clear this early on, that he might have a few years of peace, as she had. Chell knew now that would not be the case, and there was nothing she could do about it save for hide the truth from him for as long as she could.

 But what good would it do if he didn't want it hidden?

 Wheatley knew that he was certainly treading on dangerous territory if it was somewhere that Chell didn’t want to go. He also knew that it would _probably_ be in his best interest to listen to her advice, because she always knew what she was doing and he (almost) _never_ knew what he was doing, but it was becoming more than a tad obvious that whatever she was hiding was hurting her. Maybe if she shared it with him it wouldn’t be as hard on her; and, really, it wasn’t a difficult decision to make when he thought about like that.

 "I want to know."

 Chell had to admit that part of her was proud of him for seeking the truth despite knowing it was painful. That was a very human endeavor. Still, she stiffened at his response.

 When she spoke her voice was heavier than he’d ever heard it. She wanted to meet his eyes but couldn’t tear hers from their hands.

 "Mortality." 

 As that one word hung in the air, the cold she’d let in before became much more noticeable. 

 Wheatley shuddered as long ago echos of  ‘You'll die if…’ and the wave of terror that followed rang through his head. Back There the only people- cores- that died, died because (well, it sounded a bit harsh, but because) they  _ deserved  _ it. Everyone was warned about what was and wasn’t acceptable behavior, and of the consequences for the latter. Those who didn’t listen, those who paid the price, consciously chose to do so; to accept the risk. They were the ones who fell off their rails, or turned themselves into flashlights, or became corrupted- and all because they didn’t listen. Bad cores died; good cores didn’t. Good cores lived  _ forever _ .

 Not anymore.  

 Chell sensed Wheatley’s fear (it would’ve been hard not to, the color was draining from his face at a rather alarming rate) and gently brushed her fingers against the back of his hand.

 She didn’t want to speak, but she didn’t have much of an alternative.

 “People-”

 ‘Careful.’

“People usually live for a very long time. Some people have lived to be over a hundred years old, but no one lives forever. And sometimes age has nothing to do with it. Sometimes people go to sleep and they don’t wake up. Sometimes people get sick, or hurt, and they just don't get better." 

 For the second time that night Wheatley froze, paralyzing fear ( _great-_ _thank you_ , human body- he needed more of that) surging up his spine even faster than before as some rather interesting pieces clicked into place. Chell had been acting strange (isolated, depressed) for two weeks, and she refused to tell him what was wrong, claiming that it was for his own good. Now she was getting sick, and to top it all off, they were having a conversation about death. 

_  ‘Dear God, _ no- nononononononononono-’

 “Chell,” Wheatley’s voice wavered as he squeezed her hand a bit too hard. “Why are you telling me this?”

 Her voice was tight, void of emotion. 

 “You know Elizabeth. Our neighbor.” 

 Wheatley was simultaneously flooded with intense relief, remorse, and a healthy dose of shame.

_  ‘Oh.’  _

 “She's had health problems for a few years now, but- they've gotten worse in the past few weeks. A lot worse.” The mix of emotions Chell was feeling was already strong enough to make her eyes sting ( _ ‘That didn’t take long.’ _ ), and she hated it, she hated it,  _ she hated This. _ “Sam doesn't think-” The heat in her throat stole her voice, and at it’s disappearance she curled in on herself, and away from him.

**‘Stop it.’**

 “Chell.” A few tears escaped her eyes as  **he** began to trace patterns into her back. “Why didn't you just say something?" 

 At that she sat up, tear stained face stubborn as ever. 

 "Because it hasn't even been a year. I didn't want you to have to think about this yet.” She looked away as her face tinged pink. “And I knew if I told you about it, I'd end up... like this."

 His voice was gentle, almost teasing.

 "Crying?" 

 " _ Yes _ ." Chell felt pathetic as she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but to him she looked strong as ever. 

 "Why, cause I'm the toughest man alive?" To his delight his joke earned him a little laugh. She leaned against him, be it somewhat reluctantly, allowing him to wrap an arm around her stomach as she rested her head on his shoulder. He nuzzled her gently, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. His voice was dripping with warmth; understanding. "You can cry, Chell. You're human. It's nothing to be ashamed of." 

_  ‘When did he become the mature one?’ _

 "No it's not, but it sometimes it feels like it is." Wheatley felt her squeeze his arm a bit more tightly. "I fought Her because I was sick of being treated like an animal. Like something people could cage and control whenever they wanted. I told myself I fought for my humanity.” Chell gave a bitter huff of laughter, her voice twisting to match. “Now I'm finally free and all I do is  _ fight  _ my humanity.” 

 Wheatley hadn't really thought about it, but he supposed that was somewhat true. It was sad to think that Chell had fought so hard (and so long) for something, only to lose that something to the fight.

 Though that was a rather exaggerated assessment of situation. 

 In Wheatley’s opinion Chell had taught him everything he knew about humanity (which was far more than he’d ever expected to understand), and must have had quite a bit of it to bring herself to forgive him. Much less return There and save him, or share her home with him, or dedicate so much of her time to helping him with whatever he needed. It wasn’t as if she was trying to suppress every human instinct she had; just the ones she didn’t want people to see.

 Or maybe not.

  "She's been like a mother to be me." Chell snuggled into his side, hiding behind his arm as a frightened child might cling to a parent. Something in his chest hurt when he saw the just how pained her expression was (when he heard it in her voice), but he knew there was nothing he could to help. He could only listen. "The day I came here- when I collapsed- she’s the one who found me. She was the first human I had seen in years. She and Sam saved me. They've looked after me ever since. And now-” Her voice caught and she hid her face from him. “I can't- I can’t.” She choked, “I'm sorry.” 

 “It’s alright, love.” Wheatley’s presence- his voice- was starting to feel more and more like a security blanket (not that Chell would ever- had ever- stooped to one of those): warm, and reassuring, and comforting. “You’re okay. Perfectly fine. You don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want to. We don’t have to talk at all, if you don’t want to. We can just sit here.”

 He felt her nod. 

 Wheatley held her as she cried, and it was terrifying and comforting for both of them. Hearing Chell sob was a bit like watching a mountain crumble at his feet; terrifying and unnatural. It was also a little uncomfortable because Wheatley’s shoulder was growing very wet, and he still wasn't a huge fan of water- but Chell needed this. 

 It was a big step on her end. Crying in front of anyone would have been unlikely; crying in front of Wheatley- actually allowing him to hold her as she cried- felt absolutely unreal (and part of her hoped it was). It also made her feel better than she had in weeks, because, ironically enough, he fussed over her more when she was trying to hide her problems from him than when she was actually reacting to what was wrong. 

If Wheatley had to guess he'd say Chell had been bottling all of this up for awhile now, because she cried, coughs mixing with her sobs, until she didn't have the energy to do anything save for sit there and let him hold her. He hoped she would fall asleep. She’d obviously been tired since all this had started, since Elizabeth had gotten sick, and he wouldn’t mind to stay like this all night. Chell had returned to sleeping in her room (without him) since the first day she’d come back from the hospital, and... he missed holding her like this. Especially after the scare he’d had a minute ago, the contact was reassuring for him, too. Wheatley hoped that he was helping. He tried to comfort Chell by running his fingers through her hair, stroking her back; copying subtle comforts he'd picked up from her. He realized it wasn’t much, but it was all he could offer. He just wanted her to be okay.

 Chell shifted against him as if she was going to say something else, then untangled herself and stood. Alone, the air felt much colder to both of them.

 “Thank you.” She wanted to stay there with him so badly (it was warm, and safe, and he understood, it was okay-), but she couldn’t. If Chell stayed much longer she was certain Wheatley would lull her to sleep, and there was no telling where her emotional stability would be when she woke. Considering all the things she’d said and done that day, Chell was surprised she’d been able to stand being around him for as long as she had. “I’m sorry.”

 As he watched her retreat down the hall, Wheatley wanted to believe that Chell was okay now. She had finally told him what was wrong: There were no more secrets and just her clearer conscience would probably make her feel a lot better. She should stop hiding in her room all day. She should start talking to him again. Things might finally go to go back to normal. They might finally get better.

 He doubted it.

 She was silent again. There was a creak as she opened the door to her room, and a soft click as she locked it behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pieces is currently on hold (because of reasons), however, the next chapter here on AO3 is a sneak peek snippet of chapter 26.


	26. Landslide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!

_ “Probably ought to bring you up to speed on something right now.” _

_ Wheatley fidgeted, his optic darting around nervously as he glanced at everything save for the lady in front of him. He hated being the bearer of bad news, and what he was about to tell her was pretty much the worst thing he could think of in the realm of things that could ruin escape plans. In fact, if there was a list titled “Things That Could Ruin Escape Plans”, he was nearly certain that this would be at the top of it. _

_ “In order to escape, we’re going to have to go through  _ Her  _ chamber.” _

_ The core paused for a moment to gauge the lady’s reaction. Chell gave a light frown, her brow furrowing as she peered through one of the nearby windows at the chamber ahead of them. He noted that she didn’t look particularly frightened, though a curious sort of light came to her eyes as she clasped her portal gun a little closer to her stomach. _

_ “And She will probably  _ kill us  _ if, um, if she’s awake.” _

_ At that, test subject and core exchanged a look of mild alarm, which in Chell’s case was mixed with more than a pinch of skepticism. She glanced up at him as she stepped closer to the door, and it almost looked as though she was biting back a doubtful smile. _

_ She really did have brain damage, didn’t she? _

_ Maybe if he could just distract her then they wouldn’t have to do this. _

_ “If you want to call it quits, we could just sit here. Forever. That’s an option. Option A: Sit here. Do nothing. Option B: Go through there, and if  _ she’s  _ alive,  _ she’ll almost certainly kill us _.” _

_ Chell shook her head as she brushed past him. Wheatley started so badly he could have fallen off his rail. _

Oh Dear God she was going to-

_ “Okay, I’m gonna lay my cards on the table: I don’t wanna do it. I don’t wanna go in there. Don’t… Don’t go in there- She’s off. She’s off! Panic over! She’s off. All fine! On we go.” _

_ Was it just his imagination or did the lady roll her eyes at him before stepping into the next room? _

_ Hm. _

_As thrilled as Wheatley was that the two of them had made it inside Her chamber without being viciously murdered (as there were quite a few ways one could be viciously murdered around Here), he couldn’t help but think how ironic it was that this was arguably the most dangerous room in the entire facility- or at least the most important one- and yet_ it wasn’t locked _. Aperture was full of empty offices and hallways that lead absolutely nowhere with doors too complicated for Wheatley to crack (even with his arsenal of hacking skills), and yet Her chamber was left wide open. No defense whatsoever. It was no wonder a human had managed to defeat Her so easily: It was almost as though She had wanted whoever ended up killing her to come here._

_ “There she is…” _

\------------------------------

Wheatley began the day by falling out of bed.

His hatred of silence paired with Chell’s now nearly constant absence had lead to him relocating the kitchen radio to one of the side tables next to the couch. Since the white noise helped him sleep at night he lay as close to it as he could, which meant that when he jolted awake that morning his proximity to the edge of the mattress lead to an unscheduled meeting between his face and the floor.

Brilliant.

Wheatley gazed blearily at the clock as he peeled himself off the floor (at least it was carpet), the bright red numbers imprinting on his vision in the darkness.

It was five in the morning.

Even better.

Promptly after flopping back down onto the bed Wheatley cocooned himself in quilt, and he was about to mash a pillow overtop of his head (believe him, nothing good could happen this early in the morning) when he thought to check the hall for signs of life. Cautiously, as if he were searching for something that might lunge out of the darkness and attack him, he peeked over the arm of the couch.

The hallway was completely dark save for a single beam of light that stretched across the floor. This, accompanied by the sudden sound of running water, must mean that Chell was awake.

Wheatley swallowed, something in his chest twisting with concern as he sank away from the arm of the couch.

Chell had been acting rather... strange lately. Granted, Wheatley had always found her actions to be a little strange, but that was because Chell was a flipping genius (if a bit of an eccentric one), and, to put it nicely, Wheatley Was Not. Usually that was fine-- almost irrelevant, even-- because they were a team. As long as Chell had the plan (and) or the know-how that Wheatley was missing (and really, when didn’t she?), she was always happy to share it with him. So despite the fact that his thinking process was about 27 steps behind hers (and that was being generous), he was never left in the dark.

Well….Except for now. Now she had quite literally left him in the dark.

Wheatley hadn’t seen Chell in three days.

Now, Wheatley would like to think he was being a bit over dramatic by worrying over that number-- after all, this time a week ago Chell had left him alone for five days. But there was a significant difference between now and then, and the difference was that this time, in all that time, Chell hadn’t left the house. She hadn’t even left her room.

This time Chell was hiding from Wheatley. This time she’d been hiding from him for three days.

And, of course, that wasn't all.

As a result of worrying, and rushing in and out of the cold, and skipping meals, and staying up late, and bottling up her emotions, Chell’s cold seemed to have evolved into something much worse. In the days between her... (for lack of better word) breakdown and her disappearance, Chell had been so sick she was miserable.

And Wheatley wasn’t sure whether or not it was related, but, much to his dismay, she had also become very hateful towards him.

Ever since Chell explained that Elizabeth was sick-- ever since the night she’d allowed to him to hold her as she cried-- she’d become extremely weary of Wheatley. Her once seemingly endless supply of patience was running dangerously low, and even when he did nothing wrong (rare as such an occurrence was) she snapped at everything he did or said. She nearly glared a hole in his head ( _ don't you  _ dare) if he so much as looked at her.

So when her cold got worse and Wheatley made the mistake of asking whether or not he should call Sam to come check on her, Chell explained to him under no uncertain terms that she was  _ fine _ , they weren’t  _ dragging _ her off to the hospital any time soon, and Sam had  _ enough  _ to handle as it was.

And then, for good measure, she locked herself in her room and took the only phone in the house with her.

That was the last he’d seen of her, though it wasn’t for lack of effort.

Every day Wheatley left three meals (if bowls of cereal, sandwiches, and bowls of soup counted as meals) and plenty of water bottles outside her door, most of which she took. He would also knock on her door once or twice a day to ask if she needed anything, and remind her that, _ just _ in case she had forgotten, he was, in fact, still there and he was more than a tad worried about her. But no matter how much Wheatley rambled and pleaded and coaxed, he only ever received a sharp _ “Go away.”  _ in response. If her tone of voice was any indication Chell was becoming angrier with him every day and Wheatley didn't know why. He’d spent three days doing nothing but pleading and worrying and wracking his brain and he still had no idea what he could have done to make her act like this.

Wheatley curled up into a ball and pulled the quilt overtop of his head.

He was _so worried about her._ And it _must_ have be his fault that she was acting this way.

Chell was treating him horribly and she would  _ never  _ do such a thing without good reason, she never did  _ anything  _ without good reason, so he must have done something to deserve this.

But he doesn’t know what he could have done wrong, and even worse, that doesn’t mean a thing. Because Wheatley has become so good at instinctively doing the wrong thing, without actually  _ realizing  _ that he’s doing the wrong thing, that at this point his thinking he’s done nothing wrong is probably more useful in proving him guilty than innocent.

And as much as he might have wanted to throw himself a pity party for all this neglect, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with Chell. As a core he had always heard that grief made humans act strangely, and if he had to guess he would say that’s what this was. She knew that something terrible was going to happen to someone she cared about and there wasn’t anything she could do but sit by and watch it happen. Force of nature that she was, she wasn't used to that sort of helplessness. On top of that Chell felt miserable (or at least she sounded it), she was probably embarrassed or at least a bit stunned by her open display of emotion the other night, and he was pestering her to death. When he thought about it like that, it made perfect sense that Chell had locked herself in her room: She was dealing with a growing list of terrible, stressful things on a daily basis, and he was the only one of those things that she could remove. So that’s what she had done. The logic checked out perfectly.

That should have been the end of it, right? Jury in, unanimous verdict: case closed. Thank you for your time. That’s all ‘folks.

But of course it  _ wasn’t  _ because there was still one tiny piece that didn’t fit with everything else (it was just Wheatley’s luck to be left with a puzzle with an extra piece instead of a missing one), and that was that Chell had also started locking the door to her room.

Now, again, at first glance this was no cause for alarm. For the most part Chell had always locked the door to her room when she’d been inside it (especially after a particular afternoon when Wheatley happened to interrupt one of her naps)-- what was concerning was that, in the days before her disappearance, she had taken to locking the door behind her whenever she  _ left _ her room as well as when she entered it.

Which meant that when Chell wasn’t hiding in her room she was hiding  _ something _ in her room.

And Wheatley had no Earthly idea what it could be, or whether or not it had anything to do with everything else that was going wrong.

Wheatley gave a soft sigh as he removed the quilt from his head and gazed down the hallway.

Somehow it felt wrong to even wonder what was going on. After all, he was the one who had caused this, whatever it was, and now, on top of everything else he had done, he had the nerve to question Chell for reacting to it? To suspect her of… of…. He didn’t even know what? What was he  _ doing _ ? What was the point of all this worrying? He trusted Chell, didn’t he?

Wheatley mashed a pillow over his head as he face planted into the mattress. He wanted to scream.

_ Of course _ he trusted Chell. This wasn’t a question of whether or not Chell had her reasons for whatever she was doing, because she was far more clever than he could ever comprehend. He understood that. His real concern was whether or not those reasons were  _ dangerous  _ when it came down to what they were doing to her health.  _ That  _ was why he was worried.

Chell was being reclusive and secretive and hateful. She had just found out that someone she cared about was dying. She was sick and it sounded as though she was getting worse. She had locked herself in her room and taken the only phone in the house with her. It was the middle of winter. The roads were covered in snow and everyone else lived on the other side of town, which meant that, when it came to figuring out and fixing whatever was wrong, Wheatley was on his own.

God help him.

Wheatley yawned despite himself.

The living room was warm, and dark, and cozy, and as much as he wanted to help Chell, five AM was not the time to solve life’s mysteries, five AM was the time to sleep.

Wheatley thought that he could at least handle that, but as some familiar thoughts filled his head he was quickly proven wrong.

_ How ironic it was that this was arguably the most dangerous room in the entire facility, or at least the most important one, and yet _ it wasn’t locked _. _

It was the same dream as before, and once again Wheatley jolted awake.

Now he glared up at the ceiling.

Okay,  _ sure _ voice in his head, but A. it was really  _ very rude _ to bother him like this when he was trying to sleep, and B. that made absolutely no sense.

Yes, most of the dream (nightmare? It didn’t make much sense: that phrase wasn't scary, and nothing save the location of the… whatever it was was frightening, but for some reason it terrified him enough to wake him, twice. But Wheatley supposed that anything that involved That Place should probably be considered a nightmare automatically) he'd had that morning was a memory of something that had actually happened, but the ending of it hadn't. Wheatley had never thought about any of those things, had never made any of those observations, because he hadn't had time to.

_ So why- _

_ How ironic it was that this was arguably the most dangerous room in the entire facility, or at least the most important one, and yet _ it wasn’t locked _. _

_ Did it matter- _

_ How ironic it was that this was arguably the most dangerous room in the entire facility, or at least the most important one, and yet _ it wasn’t locked _. _

_ If- _

It wasn't locked.

_ It wasn’t locked. _

Wheatley shot back into a sitting position, and if he’d been a character in one of those old technicolor cartoons a light bulb would’ve beamed from above his head as surely as the cake was a lie.

It was five in the morning. Chell was up and in the bathroom getting ready for the day. She thought he was asleep. And since she required a key to lock her door from the outside (which was much more work than just pressing a button: she would have to find it in the dark right after waking up, use it to lock the door, keep up with it wherever she went, and remember to bring it with her when she returned to her room) Wheatley was willing to bet that her door wasn’t locked.

Which also meant that, if he really wanted to, he could (probably) go find out what was wrong.

And Chell would never even have to know.

Wheatley swallowed.

_ Okay, I’m gonna lay my cards on the table: I don’t wanna do it. I don’t wanna go in there. _

He wasn’t going to lie to himself: this was a bad idea. And Wheatley had come to realize quite a while ago that any bad idea that he actually registered to be a bad idea was, in fact, a very very  _ bad  _ idea.

But-

_ In order to escape, we’re going to have to go through  _ Her  _ chamber. _

...But if going in there could get the two of them out of this miserable downward spiral, maybe it wasn’t a  _ completely terrible  _ idea. After all, Wheatley just wanted to know what was going on. Unless Chell had two separate problems (God help them), something pretty enlightening must be in her room, or else she wouldn’t be locking her door whenever she left it.

And all Wheatley would have to do to find out was in there would be, well, would be to go in there. If Chell was just being overprotective and making a fuss over nothing (though if he was honest he’d never seen her do anything like that before…), Wheatley wouldn’t say a word. Hopefully whatever little thing it was would blow over soon enough, he wouldn’t have to worry anymore and Chell would never have to find out what he knew. But if he saw something serious-- something he didn’t think that Chell should try to handle on her own (despite the fact that she was perfectly capable of handling just about everything), something related to There, or her health-- he would confront her on it and they could try to fix it together.

That covered just about everything, didn’t it?

_ And She will probably  _ kill us  _ if, um, if She’s awake. _

Wheatley froze.

Right.

That… That was an important bit.

Chell had always been adamant about him staying out of her room, especially when she wasn’t in it. During his first few weeks on the surface she had made it clear that that was her most important rule, and if she caught him breaking it in the mood she was in now…

All those weeks ago when Chell had asked him if wanted to leave, for a moment Wheatley had honestly thought she was joking. The question was almost laughable, because why on Earth would he  _ want  _ to leave when  _ she  _ was here?

Wheatley had always admired (and feared) Chell for her skills, and strength, and tenacity, but over the years he had come to sort of revere her as well. Chell was  _ hope _ . Back when he found her he was a dusty, useless little construct that had been alone and abandoned for longer than he cared to remember. The moment the dreary silence of his dull little world was shattered with the sound of ten thousand alarms- the moment he met Chell- even then she was his last chance at freedom, and meaning, and happiness. Since then she had become his salvation. Time and time again she had saved him, whether it was from Her or himself.

Chell was the first person who had ever cared about him. She was the first person who had ever seen him as anything other than a failure, or a price tag, or an idiot. To Chell he was so much more than any of that, because to Chell he was a friend. Even back when he was still a core, she treated him like a person. No one had ever done that before. Wheatley would never understand why or how, but she saw potential in him long after everyone else had given up.

Even when (especially when) he deserved to be given up on.

Even after he was traitorous and guilty and monstrous, and well deserving of Chell’s wrath, she helped dust him off and hauled him to his newfound feet. She hadn’t forgiven him immediately. Wheatley lamented that, to that day, Chell had never outright told him that she forgave him. He didn’t know if she ever would. But more than that, she had made it perfectly clear that she thought and expected better of him. Chell stripped away the horrible, poisonous things That Place had ingrained into his mind, and had shown him a better way to live. She taught him that it was okay to be wrong. She taught him that making mistakes and asking for help were good things, because that was how you learned. She taught him that it no longer mattered what he had been programmed to do or be as a core, because he was a person now, a human being, and it was up to him to decide what and who he wanted to be.

Chell introduced him to other people. She helped him see that, beyond the walls of Aperture, not everyone was cynical and judgemental, waiting to pounce the moment you made a mistake- and that, in fact, the majority of people were not. The people of Horizon had been nothing but kind to Wheatley, and at first he had thought that this was simply because of Chell. They adored her, obviously, and since she had taken him under her wing (or at least her roof), they felt obligated to be nice to him, too. But eventually he realized that wasn’t the case. In Horizon everyone was caring and neighborly. It didn’t matter whether Chell was with him or not, if he was out wondering about, anyone he bumped into (literally or otherwise) would give him a bright grin and stop to chat, to ask him if he was doing alright and whether or not he needed anything. The townspeople could always spare a minute to talk or help you with whatever you might need, and each and every one of them would gladly give you the shirt off their back (though of course Wheatley would never ask for it). The town's children adored him and never let him pass by without roping him into some kind of game. Whenever he helped out at the farm he’d be sent home with freshly picked flowers and more food than he could carry. Charlotte wouldn’t let him leave the only restaurant in town without giving him a bowl of soup and entire loaf of freshly baked bread. Elizabeth had supplied both he and Chell with a constant stream of gifts (ranging from blankets to winter gear to clothing), and food, and invitations to dine with her and her husband, all of which he and Chell accepted gratefully. Sam and Claire would drive to the other end of town if he had so much as hangnail. Michael was constantly fixing odds and ends at the house, and arguing with Chell as politely as possible when she tried to pay him. And despite the fact that Wheatley was far from his favorite person (he’d made that very clear, much like Chell had once done), even Michael was happy to listen to or help out with any problem Wheatley may have. Horizon had become Wheatley’s home and its people were his family. And he had Chell to thank for that.

She showed him all she could of their tiny corner of the world. Back during their escape Wheatley had been fighting for a vague sense of  _ out  _ and  _ away _ , but Chell had been fighting for the surface. She had been fighting for the grass and the dirt and the trees and the sky, the sunlight and the rain, the seasons, the wind and the snow, and she had taught him the value of all of it. The value of Freedom.

And the value of himself.

Because the most important thing Chell had ever taught Wheatley was his own worth. She taught him that he mattered, and she had made him a better person. More than that, Chell was the only one who ever made him feel like a person to begin with.

And that made what he was about to do all the more frightening, because leaving Chell meant leaving all of that behind.

Wheatley couldn’t imagine leaving Chell, couldn’t imagine his life without her in it, because, well, because of everything he just explained. She’d been there from the start-- literally from the very first moment he arrived on the surface, she’d been there to help him navigate this strange, wonderful world he knew next to nothing about. She was quite literally the reason he was there to begin with, and her being there to help him figure it out made it all the more wonderful. Without Chell he knew nothing about this world, and he had no place in it.

But somewhere between that awful phone call and his first night alone in the house, Wheatley had come to realize that his staying or leaving had very little to do with whether or not Chell stayed in his life. Because here they were, living under the same roof, and she still wasn’t there. He was still alone. It didn’t matter how great things  _ could  _ be if he stayed here with her, because he was there and they were horrible. Things were going terribly for both of them and it felt as though his being there was only making them worse.

Wheatley took a deep breath to steady himself in the darkness.

If Chell caught him sneaking into her room (because make no mistake, that’s what he’d be doing), in the mood she was in now, she would probably kick him to the curb. Because she was running out of patience and he was running out of second chances.

And if he really thought about it, at this point, maybe the only way to make things better for both of them  _ was  _ for him to leave. Because Wheatley had already tried just about everything else (not that Chell was leaving him that many options), and nothing was working.

But that still didn’t mean he  _ wanted  _ to leave, and it certainly didn’t mean he was willing to break Chell’s rules when she could come in and catch him at any second. That was below even a Wheatley grade plan.

Nervous blue eyes glanced back at the clock.

Five minutes had passed since he’d woken up, fallen on the floor, and heard the shower in Chell’s bathroom start. Which meant that, if he was lucky (which he usually wasn’t), he would have about ten or fifteen minutes to get to Chell’s room, find what he was looking for, and get back into bed before she emerged from the bathroom.

Alright then.

This was a terrible plan.

Wheatley could feel his hands shaking as he stood in the darkness. He was going to do this. He was really going to do this. He was going to sneak into Chell’s room and find out what she was hiding. From here on out there were going to be no more secrets.

Oh boy.

Wheatley made his way down the hall as carefully as possible, wincing at every creaky floorboard and silently bargaining with the others to  _ please _ remain silent, placating hand gestures and all. By the time he made it to Chell’s door he had half convinced himself she must have heard him, that she was standing on the other side of the bathroom door waiting to jump out and strangle him to death with a towel (what a way to go), and that combined with his proximity to her current location (somewhere he was well aware he was not supposed to be) made him suddenly freeze to the spot with fear.

Forget kicking him out, she was going to  _ kill  _ him, wasn't she?

After a few minutes of standing there stock still in the darkness, he managed to place his hand on the doorknob to her room. But even then he couldn’t bring himself to turn it.

_ If you want to call it quits, we could just sit here. Forever. That’s an option. Option A: Sit here. Do nothing. Option B: Go through there, and if  _ she’s  _ alive,  _ she’ll almost certainly kill us _. _

He entered under penalty of death, or worse, Chell's rath.

Was this really worth it?

_ Okay, I’m gonna lay my cards on the table: I don’t wanna do it. I don’t wanna go in there. Don’t… Don’t go in there- _

In one swift motion Wheatley flung the door open and flicked on the lights.

And he while he wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected, this wasn't it.

Chell’s room was a mess.

The bed was unmade, its pillows scattered across the room as if (for some reason) Chell had hurled them in a fit of rage. Half the blankets were hanging off the bed and drooping onto the carpet. Every drawer in the room was open, their contents either halfway hanging out or sitting in one of the many piles of clothes that were strewn across the floor. Wheatley noted with alarm that even the books Chell loved so dearly lay discarded on the floor.

This made no sense. Chell always kept everything neat, nearly to a point of obsession. She’d worked hard for her house and she kept it perfect. If Wheatley so much as left a drawer gaped in his own room she would scold him. The last time Wheatley had been inside  _ her _ room it was immaculate. What on Earth had happened?

Wheatley felt like screaming.

He hadn’t wanted to come in here in the first place, but he had at least hoped that he would come out with some  _ answers _ . Now he only had  _ more questions, _ and as he stood there alone in the eerie silence, surrounded by this mess, a terrifying sense of foreboding began to seep through his skin.

Something really was wrong.

What could he do?

Should he wait for Chell to come back? It would be sort of the opposite of what she’d done to him over the past few weeks: he could just wait for her to come in and (on the off chance she didn’t kill him) she would have to answer his questions because there wouldn’t be anywhere to run. Chell would be cornered.

Wheatley shuddered (at both the thought and the temperature. It was cold in here) and shook his head. He didn’t like that line of thought.

Though the next one wasn’t much better.

Should he… look around?

At this point Wheatley had already realized that this mess could be here simply because Chell was upset. That was the most logical explanation: She had started locking her door because she was embarrassed by the mess, and the mess was only there because she was too grieved about Elizabeth to bother with straightening up. Only a week ago Wheatley had seen Chell, master of stoicism, break down crying right in front of him. There was no denying how emotional she was about all of this.

But… Two weeks had passed since Chell had last been the hospital. If she was this distraught over losing her friend, then why had she stopped visiting her? Why was she locking herself away in her room all the time? It didn’t make sense.

And though Wheatley felt guilty for even thinking such things, Chell was too clever for her own good. If she  _ was  _ hiding something from him, she could’ve made this mess on purpose to distract him from what was really wrong on the off chance he somehow made it in here. That sounded like something she would do.

Either way, it was unlikely that Wheatley was going to get another chance to look around like this. He might as well make the most of it, right?

Wheatley raked a shaking hand through his hair.

_ No! Wrong! _

He was invading Chell’s privacy just by being here. Breaking her rules was bad enough: what was he going to do next, search through her belongings? No thank you! One count of treason was bad enough, thank you very much, he could well do without two. Especially when he had no  _ clue  _ what it was he was looking for-- if there was even anything to be found!

Wheatley tried to calm down and think, neither one of which he was very good at. He needed help. He wasn’t smart enough to figure all this out on his own, he needed--

_ The phone! _ Of course! Why hadn't he thought of that before? That should've been the plan all along! Chell had brought the phone in here with her, and if he could find it he could take it with him and call for help! All the numbers were in the kitchen on the fridge! But where was the--

Wheatley’s blood turned to ice as the door clicked shut behind him.

Oh no.

_ Oh no. _

Wheatley was currently facing away from the door, and very glad of the fact. He froze completely, held his breath, even, in the futile hope that maybe, just maybe, if he stood still enough, Chell would somehow overlook him.

But of course he knew better.

He’d wondered for days now what her expression would be when he finally saw her again. If she would be sad, or sorry, or angry. Wheatley had hoped she would finally be  _ happy  _ again. He’d hoped she would finally feel better. But now, as Wheatley pursed his lips together and slowly turned to face her, Chell just looked tired. And not just physically tired. Tired of him. She wasn’t angry (furious) like he expected her to be. It was etched into the ice of her eyes as she stood there, rigid: Chell was done with him.

And that was far, far worse.

He swallowed thickly as he stood there, shaking under the weight of her glare, trying to scrounge up something to say.

"Oh! Chell, I-” His voice was an embarrassingly high pitch as he looked around for some semblance of an excuse, his gaze frantic and somewhat hopeless as he looked around the room. “You’re, um, all quiet and ominous, I see.” Chell didn’t bat an eyelash. “You’re- You’re probably wondering what I’m doing in here. Good question! The answer… is… thaaaaat I was just looking for-”

By some feat of miracles still not large enough to save him, the little book of poems sat on the edge of Chell’s bed. It was nowhere near an adequate excuse (nothing is) and Wheatley knew it, but nevertheless he lunged for the book.

Chell got there first and several things happened at once.

Wheatley flinched once as he heard the book hit the floor, a result of Chell hurling it across the room, and again as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him down to eye level.

It seemed that now she was ready to be angry.

Chell’s eyes were molten silver, full of sparks and fire and the purest scalding hot rage he’d ever seen. Usually the picture of composure, she was now so angry that even her breathing was louder than usual. This was by far the most enraged Wheatley had ever seen her, and this was the woman he’d once made so angry she had shot him into _space_.

"Get out." She growled, alarmingly soft. "Now."

Now she was in front of him, driving him back towards the door. Wheatley attempted to scramble away, terrified and angry (thoug his anger seemed more like a minor annoyance in comparison to Chell’s). He knew exactly what she was going to do: she was going to pitch him out into the hallway, slam the door in his face, and leave him alone again for God knew how long.

"I-- No!" Chell’s grip slacked in surprise and Wheatley managed to break free. If his shoddy cover wasn't blown before, it certainly was now. "You-You made me promise to stay out of your room- you made a rule that I had to keep away and you told me that if, if I broke it I'd be breaking your trust--"

"I mean it, Wheatley! Get out! Now! Or I'll-"

"No!” He snapped, rising to his full height and stepping back, away from her and the door. Insult flickered across her face. “I'm bigger than you and-and you can't just make me leave!"

Chell shook her head, something dark in her eyes.

“You do  _ not _ understand-”

Wheatley flailed.

"That’s exactly right! I don't understand!” The scowl on Chell’s face faltered for the briefest of seconds. Wheatley offered her a genuine (albeit concerned) smile as he tried to take her hands in his, but she shied away. “You already told me what’s wrong. Chell I’m not mad at you, I’m  _ worried  _ about you. You said you're worried about Elizabeth but you're not even leaving the house anymore to go visit her! You’re just locking yourself in here so you can be alone all the time! You're sick and you're not taking care of yourself!” Wheatley wanted so badly to be closer to her, to hold her and tell her that everything would be okay, but her eyes were full of unease and every time he took a step forward she took a step back. He hoped he sounded as worried as he felt. “What's the matter? What's wrong?”

For a moment she looked as though she might tell him. Chell’s expression softened, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly as she took an uneasy breath. She was tired. This was tiring, whatever it was, and Wheatley could tell that she didn’t particularly want to keep it up.

Chell looked him straight in the eyes.

And nearly glared a hole in his head.

Her voice was more warped and strangled than he’d ever heard it: cold and disappointed and deeply hurt. Chell looked so angry and yet she sounded as if she wanted to cry.

"I trusted you."

Wheatley couldn’t tell whether or not that was the answer to his question, but it sent him over the edge.

"No you didn't! No you don't!" He snapped, ludicrous. "I've followed all of your rules up until now, and I still don't have your trust! And you know what? You don't have mine, either!" Based on the flash of pain across Chell’s face he wasn’t sure who was more hurt. "You spend every day upset, locked up alone in this room and you won't tell me why! Meanwhile I spend every day, alone, worrying about you! And I can't help you, can't do anything but watch you make yourself sick, because you won't talk to me!" By this point he was trying not to cry. "You don't care about me! You don't trust me! All you want is to _be_ _alone_!"

Wheatley took a shaking breath as his voice rang across the house, and as it did so the truth of his words soaked through his skin.

"Well I may be a moron but I'm not that dense. I'll go. I just-- I'll leave, and you can be alone for as long as you want--"

“Don’t act so dignified.” She stepped back, away from him, and despite the fact that her lips were moving, that was not her voice. “I asked you months ago if you wanted to stay here-- I offered to  _ take you somewhere else _ \- and you said you wanted to stay with me. You made a choice. It’s not my fault that you made the wrong one.”

Chell had never ever been like this. Wheatley had never seen her act so coldly towards him or anyone else.

“Do you-- You really do want me to leave, don't you?”

She looked him dead in the eyes.

“Am I being too vague?”

That was the end of it.

Wheatley stood there, the world around him reeling as he tried to figure out what to do next. He was alone now, as simple as that. He was going to end up alone, he was going to have to live without Chell, so where was he going to go? He could go to one of the neighbors houses but he couldn't stay in town, he couldn't  stay in Horizon, because everyone was going to find out what had happened, they were going to find out what he did to make Chell act like this, and they _ loved her _ , they were  _ all  _ going to take her side and though they'd probably be right to blame this on him, he had no earthly idea what he'd done wrong to start all of this.

Wheatley was doing everything in his power not to have a meltdown. He had just lost everything: his entire world was entwined with Chell.

She stepped behind him and he heard the door open. He knew without looking that she was standing there, watching him, probably disgusted and already ushering him out.

_ ‘Good riddance.’ _

Maybe it was only because Wheatley used to be a form of computer, but he really wished that life had an undo button. Because there were  _ so many things _ he would love to go back and fix, and for some reason most of them involved Chell.

Wheatley had never meant to hurt her. Never. And they had gotten so much better in the past few months. They were  _ friends  _ again. They had made so much progress.

He'd just ruined all of it.

Wheatley didn’t want to leave like this. He didn’t want to leave at all, but he really didn’t want to leave like this. He knew he couldn’t fix whatever this was, but maybe there was some way he could leave things so it didn’t feel as though everything they'd done was for nothing.

And then he remembered.

_ ‘Hope is the thing with feathers - _

_ That perches in the soul - _

_ And sings the tune without the words - _

_ And never stops - at all - _

_ And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - _

_ And sore must be the storm - _

_ That could abash the little Bird _

_ That kept so many warm…’ _

The little book of poems was sitting forlornly on the floor, half hidden under the drooping duvet. It would be a small gesture, tiny and insignificant in comparison to all the terrible things he had said and done just today (before six o’clock in the morning, even), but Wheatley decided that since it would be  the last thing he ever did for Chell, it might as well be something nice.

Wheatley wanted so badly to say that he was sorry, even though he had no idea what he’d done wrong. But then he remembered what Chell had told him the first time she had slammed the door in his face, the first time she’d locked herself in her room.

‘Don't apologize.’ In that same God awful voice that wasn’t her’s.

So Wheatley wouldn't apologize. He would hand her the book and thank her for everything she’s done for him and tell her that he's-- no. No. He would only say thank you, because Chell didn't want to hear that he was sorry and he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye.

That, at least, was a good plan.

But like so many of Wheatley’s other plans, it spiralled out of control very quickly, in ways he couldn't begin to imagine.

Wheatley had always found the color red rather alarming.

That color always made him think of turrets, and while they didn’t shoot at cores, it still scared the living hard light out of him when he rounded a corner and there was one waiting for its next victim, chittering away with that terrifyingly soft voice. Orange had been reassuring up until now. Orange was  _ her _ color, a flash of orange had always meant that Chell was still alive, orange on the walls meant that she was right behind him, that everything was going according to plan.

But the two colors together, in the form of stained tissues and pill bottles that filled the little waste basket beside Chell’s bed, meant the exact opposite.

And to think he’d felt frightened when he’d heard the door close.

Wheatley tried to form words, a very difficult endeavour when one can’t breathe.

“What is--” His voice caught somewhere in his throat. “Chell, are you-- Chell?" The room was spinning. "Oh my God. What is-- is that-- blood?" Wheatley wanted nothing more than to look at Chell-- to see her standing there, alive and well, perfectly fine-- and listen as she gave a perfectly logical explanation as to what was going on and how she was okay, but he couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from the monstrosity before him. "What's wrong? Are you okay? What--"

Wheatley finally managed to look at Chell for some confirmation that the world wasn’t ending.

He found none.

It had taken Chell a moment to realize what Wheatley had seen, but that was all it had taken for her to freeze; for all the color to drain from her face. He had never seen her so caught off guard-- so openly afraid.

She looked for all the world as if she’d watched someone impale him.

_ ‘So  _ close _ …’ _

The two of them stood there frozen and horrified, each of them temporarily relying on Wheatley’s previous strategy of survival: If they stood still enough, maybe the world wouldn’t fall apart.

Chell spoke, her voice soft and low. Almost back to normal.

“You should have left.”

And then she cried.

Oh no.

**_Oh no._ **

“Chell?” Wheatley’s voice cracked like a sheet of glass. He stumbled to where she had sat on the bed, her head in her hands, before sinking to his knees at her feet. “Oh no, don't-- don’t-- there's no need to  _ cry _ , love.” He choked through tears. “Don't cry. Please don't cry. Whatever's the matter-” He gave a strangled huff of laughter as he weakly squeezed her hand. “I  _ promise _ , it'll be okay.”

_ He was lying and he knew he was lying but he wanted what he had said to be true and please dear God let it be true. _

Chell was realizing far too late that her ability to control her emotions no longer worked. A lot of things no longer worked.

Poor Wheatley was sitting in a heap at her feet, a shivering, sobbing mess. He was making an attempt to comfort her, but between the two of them she wasn’t sure who was worse off.

Chell tried to collect herself for his sake.

“No.”

Her voice came out strong and clear, and at the sound of it both of them managed to stop crying. Wheatley’s expression was purely devastated as he looked up at her and squeezed her hand too hard.

"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when I told you about Elizabeth? About how she's sick?" Chell gave him a weak smile. "I’m the same way, Wheatley." Her hand was shaking in his. “I have an illness that Sam can’t treat, and I’m not going to get better.”

Wheatley wasn’t sure exactly what Chell had just said, but all of a sudden there was a faint ringing in his ears.

"No," His hand slipped from hers. "No, you're fine. You're going to be fine. You have a cold.” He shook his head. “You’re upset about Elizabeth. You’re mad at me for something I did wrong. You want me to leave, so I’m going to leave-- and you’re going to stay here and you’re going to be okay. You said-- you told me you were fine! You said not to worry about to you! That it was nothing! You said!" Chell reached for him but he recoiled, he somehow hauled himself to his feet and stepped out of reach. "And, and you can't have that because there's no--" His breath hitched in a sob. "You would-- You can't!" Wheatley wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could in attempt to keep himself from falling apart. “ _ Please _ !”

_ He can’t breathe someone help him he can’t breathe-- _

“I’m so sorry, Wheatley.” Part of Chell wanted to come closer but she didn't and she wasn't sure why. She stared at the carpet. “This is why I lied to you. Why I’ve been so hateful towards you lately.” She gave a bitter smile. “I was trying to… to make you upset with me. So you would leave. And then you wouldn't have to find out--” Chell swallowed. “I didn't want to do this to you.”

“I don't understand.” Wheatley said shakily.

 "Sam told me about a month ago." Chell looked up at him meekly. "The night I got the phone call.... it was about Elizabeth. That they'd taken her to the hospital, and I went to see her." She closed her eyes. "While I was there I got pretty upset. I started coughing and Sam didn’t like the sound of it.” Chell examined her hands. "She wonders if it made its first appearance around Christmas."

When Wheatley finally spoke he somehow sounded hollow.

“You've been this sick for that long, and you never told me."

Chell regretted it now. There was no doubt in her mind this would have paid off if Wheatley had left, but now she had only wasted time making both of them miserable.

"I'm sorry." The words felt empty despite how much Chell meant them. She sounded small. "I wasn't this bad at first. And this will pass in a few days: I'll be better for a little while before I get worse again."

It all made sense now. Her hiding in her room all day wasn't to avoid Wheatley, it was to keep him from seeing this. To keep him from seeing how sick she was. She left the mess on purpose to distract from what he’d found. This was what she was hiding.

"Why didn't you just  _ tell me _ ?” Wheatley whimpered. “You could've _ told me _ ."

Chell shifted uncomfortably.

"You're human." She said gently. Wheatley recognized his own words being used against him. "There isn't anything anyone can do other then take me to the hospital and keep me comfortable." Chell looked up at him with a soft kind of light in her eyes. "I don't want that. I would rather stay here--” She bowed her head, her voice going quiet. “with you."

Wheatley was incredulous.

"No-- No you don't." He cried. "I'm terrible! I'm-- I'm awful! I tried--” Wheatley choked on his words, and both of them froze at the horror in his eyes. Suddenly he was white as a sheet. “I did.” Shaking hands clawed through his hair. “Oh G-- Oh my God.”

It would have been so much better if he’d run. If Wheatley had listened to her, if he'd believed all the God awful things she'd said to him that morning, he could have left town, started a new life somewhere else, and hated her. The realization wouldn't dawn on him quickly, but over time his guilt would boil to something deeper, thicker, and one day instead of berating himself over what he'd done wrong (nothing) he would tell himself how hateful and cruel and awful she was, and ask himself why he would ever have wanted to stay there with her to begin with. Why should he believe a single word she said?

“Wheatley--”

But he didn't listen to her. He didn't run away, he didn't believe her lies. So now he was going to stay. Wheatley was going to be stuck Here just like her.

And he was going to Know.

“The gels.” He choked, pathetically. “The chambers with the gels were condemned because they-- all the humans that tested with them--” Wheatley saw the shadows under Chell’s eyes, the sickly pale hue of her skin, heard the strain in her breathing, and he could have drowned in the shame. “You were down there. With them. Because I--” He sobbed. “I did this to you! I k--"

The rest of the words wouldn’t come out.

Wheatley was falling and the sky was falling and the entire world was falling, endlessly.

The floor was rushing up to meet him, and that when Chell (who had previously been on the other side of the room) caught him.

Wheatley wanted to cling to Chell like a frightened child but a venomous voice in his head told him he did  _ not  _ deserve comfort, he did not deserve her touch, he had done Enough. He put up a half hearted fight for her sake because his touch was poison, but her grip was iron. Chell held him at arm's length, her hands firmly secured around his wrists.

“Neither one of us had much control over what we did back there.” Chell’s eyes glinted as Wheatley tried to pull away, blatantly ashamed. “You got me out.” At that he went still. “Maybe you did it a little bit differently than we planned, and maybe not for as long as we planned… but I got out of there because of you. If it hadn’t been for you, I would be there right now. If I had managed to survive that long, or was ever woken up at all.” Somehow Chell almost looked happy. “And I would rather have lived three years up here than three hundred down there.”

She pulled him into a hug but Wheatley could only stand there, shaking.

For the first time in weeks she spoke with her own voice.

“Breathe.”

Wheatley choked out a sob as he stood there, refusing to let himself reach for her.

She smoothed a hand across his back.

“I know. It's okay.”

_ ‘Blasphemy _ .’

“How can you  _ say-- _ ”

Once again Chell held him at arm’s length, though now the expression she wore was much lighter. She wore a soft smile and her eyes were brighter than Wheatley had seen them in weeks.

Her voice was warm and her words made the sky fall all over again.

“Because I forgive you. For everything.”

Wheatley had waited so long to hear those words. He had always imagined that he would feel lighter after Chell said them, as if a literal weight had been lifted. But now they did the exact opposite. Those perfect words were crushing, because as much as Wheatley had wanted so desperately to hear them, he would trade never hearing them-- would gladly trade Chell hating him-- in a  _ heartbeat  _ for her health.

Wheatley finally managed to hug her back as something inside of him broke in two.

“I’m sorry!” He wailed, wrapping his arms around her stomach as if he could hold her there forever. “You have to be okay!” His breath was hitched with sobs as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Her voice was soft and even, but she was crying, too.

_ How ironic it was... _

“I know it doesn’t feel like it now, believe me,” Chell gave a wry smile that Wheatley couldn’t see. “But you’re going to be okay.”  

Wheatley clutched at the fabric of her shirt.

_ "No-" _

“Everything is going to be just fine. I promise." His breath caught as Chell rested her forehead against his. Her eyes were bright-- determined-- despite the tears. "You just have to trust me, okay?"

_ No defences whatsoever. _

That, at least, was easy.

Wheatley nodded.

“Okay.”

_ No wonder a human had managed to defeat Her so easily: It was almost as though She had wanted whoever ended up killing her to come here. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> Hello dear readers!! We’re finally back!!!! And we have a lot to talk about!
> 
> First off, Pieces is complete!!! Hooray!
> 
> This is not the last chapter, but the last chapter has already been written, and so we’re back to weekly Friday updates until the end of the fic! Wohoo!
> 
> I’d like to give a huge thank you to The_Pie_Is_A_Lie and mango-sass for betaing these giant chapters. Thank you to wheatleyandchell (faroutfangirl) for your constant support. Thank you to the portal writer’s discord and everyone who’s listened to me fight with and rant about Pieces over the years. And thank you, thank you, thank you to those of you who stuck around through this hiatus (of nearly two years!) and all the ones before. You have been so patient and kind, and your support has meant the world. Thank you!
> 
> I am very sorry, both for the long hiatus and the sadness. This chapter is the reason Pieces was kept on hold. I would much rather have you guys return to a sad chapter than leave you hanging with one for months and months before I finished the next one. Which is why I waited until everything was finished to post this. I feel bad leaving this for just a week. I couldn’t make you wait any longer than that for the next one.
> 
> Please do not give up on this fic if you don’t like this turn of events (You've waited this long! XD) There will still be cuteness and fluff, I promise you. Please keep reading.
> 
> Now. You knew this was coming.
> 
> We’ve gone without updates for nearly two years. I worked on this chapter for over seven months. The finished product is 37 pages and well over 9000 words. The cut content for this chapter alone is 52 pages and close to 10000 words. If you're glad Pieces is back, please please please review!!! Thank you!!!


	27. Degrees

Wheatley wasn't sure how long he and Chell stood there holding each other crying, but when he broke from the dream like trance he was in it felt as though an eternity had passed. Chell pulled away from their embrace, smoothing a hand between his shoulder blades as she laced her fingers through his, a clear sign that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Between fatigue and emotion Wheatley felt as though he was about to fall over, and her touch was immensely comforting: grounding as she gently led him to the living room, closing her bedroom door behind them as they left.

They stumbled down the darkened hall and into the living room, where the last embers of the fire were slowly dying. Chell deposited the protesting, half asleep Wheatley on the edge of the pull out mattress before kindling the embers back to a small blaze. He watched in a daze (how on Earth was she still standing?) as she padded across the carpet to the table where the little radio sat. There was a soft  _ click _ as Moonlight Sonata was cut short. Silence spilled across the room, and she disappeared into the shadows of the kitchen to return the radio to its rightful place. Moments later her tawny skin was illuminated by golden light as she returned, and she fell next to him on the bed in a heap.

Wheatley, in his grief stricken zombie like stupor, decided that everything was terrible except for this. This little slice of peace and warmth and closeness they had both missed so much-- this was the only good thing left in the world.

It was so familiar that it made something in his chest  _ ache _ : Just to be able to hold Chell again, just to have her  _ close  _ again, was an immense comfort.

So that’s what he did.

Wheatley pulled Chell up next to him as carefully as possible. She allowed him to prop her up with pillows and cover her in quilts and curl around her; she traced gentle patterns onto his back as she hid her face in the crook of his neck. Wheatley's voice was shaking just as badly as Chell’s small frame as he murmured reassurances into her hair.

Everything was going to be okay. She was going to be okay. He didn't care what anyone said. He was right there. He wasn’t going anywhere, and nothing was going to hurt her on his watch. He promised. He might not be very frightening or strong or any of that, but anything that wanted to hurt her was going to have to go through him first.  

Chell managed a smile.

That was how they fell asleep.

\---------------------------------------------

When Wheatley woke, Chell was gone.

He had hoped that she would sleep in that morning (for both their sakes), but he was disappointed to find that the space she had occupied next to him was completely devoid of warmth; the blankets she'd been using had been piled on top of him before she’d left. For a moment Wheatley panicked, thinking that Chell had returned to her room, locking him out once again, but as he jolted upright he was hit with the scent of coffee and bacon.

At that he gave a sigh of relief, and reluctantly pried himself from the nice warm bed to go investigate.

Wheatley groggily padded across the carpet, pausing for a moment at the border of the kitchen before he remembered he could once again cross it.

That was where he found Chell.

She stood in front of the stove, a skillet in one hand and the house phone nestled between her shoulder and her ear. The moment she saw Wheatley she removed it, murmuring something about having to go before cutting off whoever was speaking (and Wheatley could pretty easily guess who it was) mid sentence.

Something in his chest ached when he looked at her.

For whatever reason Chell looked close to guilty as she put the phone down. Her hair was free from its usual ponytail, and she tucked a stray strand behind her ear before chancing a look up at Wheatley. She didn’t meet his eyes.

Sorrow hung in the air like a fog, and both of them were lost in it.

Chell spoke first.

“Good morning.”

Was it?

“‘Morning.”

Silence.

Wheatley swallowed, looking away. “...I-”

He stopped.

It felt as though the events of the morning had punched a hole through Wheatley’s chest. There were so many things he wanted to say to Chell, but it somehow felt  _ wrong  _ to say any of them. Wheatley didn’t know what to say, and for the first time in his life that was actually enough to keep him from speaking: Forget what he had thought before-- his words  _ were  _ worthless, because no words could fix what was happening to Chell. And it was all his fault.

“I’m sorry.” He said, peeking up at Chell. His voice was small. “Remember how you almost kicked me out yesterday?” He tried at a smile and failed. “I was really scared. Because I didn't know where I would go or what I would do without you. I never want to live without you.” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “But I almost wonder-- if it would be better if I left. If I did leave.”

Chell crossed her arms, though her expression was far from angry.

“It?”

“...You?”

" _ Wheatley _ ."

" _ No _ ." He said. "I-- You don't-- you don't  _ want  _ me here for this. You have Michael, and Jake, and Auburn, and Sam-- they're better. You can’t  _ possibly  _ want me for this. You don't need me."

Chell looked genuinely confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"This is my fault! I did this to you!" Wheatley wasn’t sure who looked more hurt. "You can't... honestly want me here when this is my fault. I know… there’s no way you can still consider me…  _ anything _ after I… You’re just…  _ pretending _ . Because you’re wonderful, and you’re trying to spare my feelings. But I know-- You must be mad at me. You must  _ hate  _ me. You have to. And I definitely, completely deserve it. In fact, I might actually hate me more than you do." Wheatley backed away, his hands in the air. "I'm so sorry. I keep trying to make things better, but I just keep hurting you.” His voice was heavy as his eyes met hers. “You're the nicest, most patient, understanding person I've ever met, and you've been through more than anyone else on the planet, and you don't deserve any of it, and over half of it is  _ my fault _ . Because I ruin everything I touch. And I thought that was something I could change-- you know, no more programming, freedom and all that-- but I  _ can’t _ . I’m too much of a screw up to fix."

He gave a funny little smile as he tried not to cry.

"But I can leave. You'll be better off if I do. I'll go. And you’ll never have to worry about me ruining anything else. I promise.”

Wheatley made a beeline for the living room, but he didn’t get very far.

“I  _ was  _ mad at you.”

Wheatley stopped.

“What?”

“When I first came here.” Chell said. “I was so angry at you, I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the sky. I couldn’t look at the stars for months. I hated the color blue. Sam once tried to put me in a blue room on one of my early days at the hospital, and I panicked so badly they had to knock me out.” Wheatley looked at Chell, horrified. “I’ve already told you that I collapsed before I made it to town. What I didn’t tell you was that because you told me you would help me, and then did what you did, I fought the people here when they tried to help me. I hurt them, because they were trying to save me. Because you hurt me after telling me you would save me. I was incapable of trusting people for a very long time.” Chell pried her gaze from the floor to meet his. “Part of me  _ did  _ hate you then.” Wheatley cringed, and waited for the worst of it: what was sure to follow.

“But I wasn’t even angry with you when I found out I was sick.”

“Why  _ not _ ?”

Chell gave an exasperated little laugh.

“You didn’t wake up this morning, and decide to make me sick, Wheatley. What caused this happened nearly  _ four years ago _ .” Chell paused to let that number sink in. Wheatley blinked (He'd never thought math would ever make him feel  _ better) _ . “Do you honestly expect me to blame you, here and now, for something that happened four  _ years _ ago? Look at how much you’ve changed in just the last  _ eight months _ .” Chell gave another huff of laughter as she motioned to him. “You didn’t understand the concept of  _ eating  _ when you first came here. You were stranded on the couch for an entire week, because you didn’t know how to walk; you could hardly even stand.” Chell’s voice softened. “But that didn't keep you from walking on eggshells every time you spoke to me, did it? Because that was back when I wouldn't speak to you. Or look at you, for that matter.” Chell crossed her arms, affection glinting in her eyes. “Your attempts to stay on my good side weren’t always successful, but I could tell you  _ were _ always worried about my reaction to every little thing you said or did. You were so afraid of disappointing me. Or making me angry or upset. And though I usually wasn't thrilled with your antics, I noticed that you were trying to make things easier. And I appreciated that.” Wheatley was somehow fighting back tears and a smile. Chell was fighting the former, but not the latter. “Since you were able to walk you’ve been trying to help me with everything you could. At first you were only trying to appease me, or maybe evade my wrath, but… I don't think it's a stretch to say you've grown to truly care about me over the past few months.” Something in his chest twisted pleasantly, then painfully as their eyes met. And he wondered how he had ever thought he knew anything of human emotion, or human pain.

Wheatley received a healthy dose of both as Chell closed the gap between them, entwining her hands in his. Her voice was low. Heartfelt.

 “Wheatley, in all that time you haven’t done  _ anything  _ to hurt me. But you’ve helped me in so many ways. You’ve kept me company, and made me laugh. You’ve read to me. You've helped me around the house. You've gone with me on trips into town. You've talked me out of nightmares. You've taken care of me when I was sick. You’ve reminded me to take care of myself. To eat and sleep and drink and stay warm. The people of Horizon love me, I know they do, but in three years most of them haven’t managed to do as much for me as you have in the past few months.”

As she spoke she wound her arms around his back, pulling him into a hug and resting her head on his chest. He was reluctant to touch her at first, but his arms eventually found their way around her smaller form. She was so close he could feel her voice vibrate through his sternum when she spoke.

“And you can say that you deserve to be kicked to the curb for what you did in the past…. But, Wheatley, I yelled at you every day for a month.” Chell couldn’t see Wheatley’s expression, but he hugged her, hard. “I ignored you and abandoned you and did every mean, hateful thing I could think of, because I was  _ trying _ to make you leave. But you stayed. For me.” One of her hands trailed up his back. He was trembling. “If you really were as horrible as you’re treating yourself, you would have hated me for what I did, and you would have told me as much. But you didn’t. You took it all, practically without complaint, and still you tried to help me. Still you came to the door and talked to me and took care of me every day, even when I yelled at you. And this morning? The way I looked at you? I could have set your hair on fire. I said things…” Chell closed her eyes. “I  _ never  _ should have said. Horrible things I probably wouldn’t have said even back when I  _ was  _ angry with you.” Wheatley wondered when he had started to cry. “But still you stayed. Even after I had kicked you out of my house-- even when you had nowhere to go, because of me--  _ even then _ your first priority was to do something you thought would make me feel better.” Wheatley couldn't see her face, but somehow she sounded happy. “Don't you see? You would never hurt me, Wheatley. Not now.”

Chell paused before speaking again.

“I’ve thought about everything that happened back There a lot lately.” She felt Wheatley tense. “I still don’t know if what you did... was even you. What I do know is that, when you started testing me, you didn’t make the tests. You stole them from--” Chell stopped. For whatever reason she never finished that sentence. “And do you remember what was in them?”

“The gels.” Wheatley said softly.

“Which means that, if you hadn’t pulled me out of testing to escape, I probably would have been forced to solve the exact same tests and been exposed to the exact same chemicals even sooner than I was.” Chell reached up and gently cupped the side of his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “This is not your fault. There’s no point in blaming yourself for this, because the exact same thing would have happened either way.”

_ ‘But I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so so so so  _ sorry--’

“It’s alright. I’m right here.” Wheatley hugged Chell as if he could hold her there forever. He didn’t know if he was crying because he felt guilty, or because Chell believed he wasn’t. “There’s no sense in worrying. Nothing’s going to happen anytime soon. Okay?”

Wheatley nodded blindly, though he couldn’t bring himself to speak. All he knew was that if she could face this with so much strength-- could forgive him-- then he had no choice but to do the same.

“Good.”

Chell released him.

“Let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?” She lightly punched him in the shoulder, still smiling softly. “You stole my books.”

Wheatley laughed through the tears.

“I did.”

\----------------------------------------------

Chell had always found solace in cleaning.

Scrubbing and dusting and washing and vacuuming were soothing, rhythmic activities that required just enough focus to distract from whatever one might be worried about. Cleaning in general was a healthy way to use negative energy: to focus it into something productive and put it to good use. Energy of any kind was too precious to waste, and Chell loved her home far too much to sit by and do nothing as it fell into a state of dilapidation.

That being said, with everything that had been going on as of late, it had been... awhile since she had found the time to clean. That was why, (especially) after enduring the silence of breakfast (companionable as it was), Chell decided this would be a good activity for both her and Wheatley.

“We’re going to clean.”

She announced this as she stood to clear the breakfast dishes.

“Clean.” Wheatley echoed. He looked up at her with a fragile smile that she was proud of him for attempting. “I’m not trying to be difficult, or judgemental, or anything like that, but you’ve hardly been home for a month, and now that you’re finally…back… the first thing you want to do... is clean?”

Chell smiled.

He was trying at a joke.

“Yes.” She turned the kitchen sink on full blast. “Open the blinds, please.”

Wheatley did as he was asked, and Chell turned to survey his work, hoping that the added light would make the house look a little bit better.

“Huh.” She laughed, and he smiled nervously at the sound of it. “I think that actually made it look worse.”

Chell would’ve loved to do the entirety of her spring cleaning in that single February afternoon (and probably could have), but for the sake of saving energy she settled for the basics; along with finishing some household chores that had piled up.

“Dishes first.” She decided. Wheatley fumbled as Chell tossed him a dish towel. As it fell Wheatley grumbled a reminder that it was, in fact, a towel, not a rug, and if it would be so inclined as to stay off of the floor-- to make a bit more of an effort, really-- that would be very helpful. Wheatley became the slightest bit distracted by this very one sided conversation, and he felt quite a lot like throwing the dish towel over his head when he looked up to find that Chell had been watching his odd little intervention, and was now smirking at him, her expression warm and clearly amused. He then felt himself turning bright pink as she mercifully turned her attention back to the sink.

Embarrassment aside, seeing Chell smile felt strange and painful to the core of his being. The complexities of human emotion was still fairly new territory, but this was something Wheatley didn't want to ask about-- didn't know if there was an answer to. Shouldn't Chell be sad? Weren't both of them supposed to be overcome with sadness-- and nothing else?

Chell submerged her hands in the sink, and flicked a bit of water in Wheatley's direction. He didn’t understand this. She was still smiling (though now it was more teasing). He wasn’t the one who was… sick… and his insides felt as though they were (once again) made of metal: weighed down with grief and fear. How was Chell smiling? How did she make him feel like smiling back and bursting into tears at the same time?

“I assume you don’t want to wash?”

“No, thank you.” Wheatley managed. Chell’s fingers brushed against his as she handed him the first clean dish. He swallowed, and tried to think of something intelligent to say. “Why the dishes first, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Chell chuckled.

“Because we’re nearly out of clean ones.”

They didn’t talk much. Wheatley briefly abandoned his post to fiddle with the countertop radio until he found some of the old timey music that Chell enjoyed. They fell into a comfortable sort of rhythm as she washed and he dried: the music punctuated by the sounds of clinking dishes, and the sloshing of warm soapy water-- occasionally phased out by the feel of her hands against his. It took about an hour before all the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, but the time passed slowly. Wheatley couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed when the last dish was put away: Somehow washing dishes had made him feel a little bit better.

“It actually did feel pretty nice to get that out of the way.” Wheatley found himself on the edge of a genuine smile, something he was reluctant to try. “What’s next?”

Chell stretched, yawning as she stood on her toes. She looked sleepy as she ran a hand through her hair.

“Go get the laundry basket.”

The laundry room in Chell's house was really more of a closet. Her clunky old washer and dryer sat side by side behind a pair of folding doors in the breakfast nook, with a shelf that ran the length of the wall a foot or so overhead and not much room for anything else. Wheatley retrieved the laundry basket from where it sat atop the washer, and returned to find that Chell was pulling the contents of the bed onto the floor.

“I thought we were supposed to be  _ cleaning _ .” Wheatley said. “It looks like you’re just making a bigger mess.”

Chell smirked before throwing a blanket over top his head.

Sheets, blankets, and pillowcases were gathered up and squashed into the laundry basket, which Wheatley dutifully hauled back to the kitchen for Chell. He then watched as she sorted everything into piles, one of which she loaded into the washer. The rest were stacked atop the drier.

After a moment Chell paused in her work and turned to face him, her expression playfully begrudging. Wheatley chuckled nervously (really, he couldn't help his height anymore than she could help her’s) and happily retrieved the detergent from the shelf she couldn’t reach.

Once the first load of laundry was in progress they returned to the living room, where Chell bent down to grab one of the bars on the couch.

“Help me lift this.”

After living with Chell for a while, Wheatley had learned that, if one  _ must  _ ask a question, it was best to question while obeying.

“You’re putting the bed away?” He asked.

Why was it so heavy?

“Yes.”

“But don’t we need to sleep there?”

They had to lift it again?

“Yes. But we’re not going to sleep right now, are we?”

“Well,” He paused. “No. I guess we’re not.”

Wheatley then helped Chell reassemble the couch that he hadn’t seen in months, a process that was only complete once its various cushions and pillows (which had somehow become scattered all around the house) were located.

“Wow.” Wheatley blinked as he took a step back from the finished product. “This room looks a lot bigger now.”

Chell rubbed her now sore hands together.

“I know.”

After that they picked up the pace: divided and conquered.

Wheatley dusted the living room while Chell scrubbed down the kitchen. He vacuumed. She gathered the rest of the laundry. Each cleaned their own bathroom while the other cleaned their respective room.

That was the only part that made Wheatley uneasy.

Chell eyed her bedroom door as if a monster was lurking behind it. Strong as she was, if she planned to fight it off with the garbage bag and dust rag she held in her hands, she likely had another thing coming.

He peeked out from where he’d been cleaning the mirror in his bathroom.

“Need any help?”

Was it just his imagination or did she flinch at the sound of his voice?

“No. Thank you.”

A lump formed in his throat as he watched her disappear behind her bedroom door.

Chell stayed in her room for longer than Wheatley would have liked, given... recent events. But since he had decidedly spent enough time waiting for Chell to come out of that room in the past few weeks, he thought that finishing the rest of his housework, and getting cleaned up would be a better use of his time than pacing.

Sure enough, by the time Wheatley was done with all that, Chell was finished too.

One glance revealed that her room was once again in pristine condition: The bed was made, the floor was completely clear, and, Wheatley noted with a pain in his chest, the waste basket was empty.

He also noticed that Chell had made a point of leaving the door open behind her.

At that particular moment in time she was getting cleaned up, but soon enough she joined him in the living room to finish up their work.

Perfectionist that she was, Chell wasn’t satisfied with simply  _ cleaning _ the house; It still needed something else. After a moment of contemplation she tossed some extra logs on the fire, then padded into the kitchen where Wheatley heard her rummaging in the cabinets under the sink. A few minutes later she returned with an armful of candles, which she lit and arranged throughout the house.

When her work was finally done (Wheatley would have loved to help her with those things, but Chell no longer allowed him around fire) she plopped down next to Wheatley on the couch.

“Much better.”

And she was right: the little house that had felt so cold and dark over the past few weeks was once again filled with warmth and light.

Speaking of which, Wheatley wanted to ask Chell why the candles were necessary (well, alright, he probably would have found a better way to phrase it than that)-- don’t misunderstand him. They were very pretty. A nice finishing touch they were, but they were also a touch formal for just the two of them. Wheatley was going to ask Chell about the candles, but he lost his train of thought when she snuggled up next to him, and wrapped his arm around her waist. Blue eyes watched in mild alarm as she made herself comfortable. Chell was so small she could fit entirely on one couch cushion. She did so now, tucking her legs to one side and leaning against Wheatley on the other. Once she was situated, Chell pulled the elastic out of her hair, and allowed her head to lull against Wheatley’s shoulder.  

Wheatley couldn’t seem to form words, and Chell seemed as though she didn’t want to.

For that reason Wheatley remained silent and very still. He tried to focus on the flickering flame of a nearby candle instead of the smell of her hair, or the feel of her breath, or the arm around her waist ( _ his _ arm, which  _ she  _ had placed there), but Wheatley knew with increasing certainty that this battle was a lost cause before it started.

As carefully as possible Wheatley peered down at Chell.

She was asleep.

He laughed despite himself.

On the night of that horrible thunderstorm all those months ago-- Wheatley’s first night sharing a bed with Chell-- it had taken him quite a while to realize when she’d actually drifted off. This was because, unless she was having a nightmare, Chell was a very still, silent sleeper. Though Wheatley didn’t know all of Chell’s history (and doubted that she did, either) he reasoned that this was likely a skill she’d picked up Back There. And impressive as it was, Wheatley had slowly picked up on the subtle differences between resting Chell and sleeping Chell.

Now was a good example.

Waking Chell was alert and straight as a board. Sleeping Chell was much more relaxed. As Wheatley looked down at her now, her fingers (previously balled into fists) were uncurled; her hair had fallen into her eyes (that in particular made his breath hitch); and she had slumped ever so gently against him. Her breathing had also evened out. Again, she didn’t snore-- Chell was almost completely silent when asleep-- but her breathing was also much softer and leveled as she slept.

Wheatley smiled bittersweetly at her sleeping form.

Chell made him feel… a lot of things.

He tried to focus on her weight against him, on the fact that she was okay. Chell was right next to him, warm, and safe, and alive, and she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. She had told him as much herself.

Wheatley froze as she shifted, then eventually returned to breathing.

He wanted to think that Chell no longer trusted him-- and part of him didn’t  _ want  _ her to trust him-- but he knew she must to do this: to fall asleep next to him. Granted, Chell had fallen asleep next to him that morning too, but somehow this felt different. What had happened that morning was more for Wheatley’s sake. This was for Chell’s. She was tired, and she wanted to rest, and she had decided that she wanted him there next to her when she did. So not only did this mean that Chell trusted him, it also meant that she enjoyed his presence and wanted him there, close to her.

Wheatley gently rested his head atop hers. The thought of Chell enjoying his presence as much as he enjoyed hers made him feel pleasantly warm (which made him feel terribly guilty).

And if Chell trusted him, after everything he’d done... maybe he should trust himself, too.

For the third time that day they slept.

Until the doorbell rang.

\----------------------------------------------

The entire town of Horizon visited Chell’s house that night.

Not everyone came at once; throughout the evening there was a steady stream of people coming and going, often teary eyed as they offered their condolences to both Chell and Wheatley (because, that’s right, every single one of  _ them  _ had known that Chell was sick), along with their help for anything either one of them might need, and more food than would fit in the fridge.

Wheatley had not been given prior notice that any of this was going to happen, but if he had to guess, it had probably been a motivator for the cleaning spree that morning.

And the sole reason for the phone conversation Chell had cut short.

Though he was stuck on the other side of the room (per Chell’s request), Wheatley noted that Chell seemed to feel like herself again. She was obviously fatigued, and sad at times throughout the night, but she was no longer overcome by these things. She held herself with pride despite her circumstances; the tenacious spark had returned to her eyes.

And it was a good thing, too.

Long after everyone else had left, Sam, Michael, Claire, Auburn and Jake shuffled into the house together, the last guests of the night. And if Chell's stony expression was any indication, that was far from coincidence.

The kids gave her a quick hug (Chell whispered a promise that they would talk later) before joining Wheatley on the couch.

Michael leaned close to Chell, and said something that sounded like “High noon.” Wheatley had no idea what that meant, but it made Chell smirk. Her eyes glistened darkly as the pair lead her out of sight: through the entryway and into the spare room at the front of the house.

Wheatley was left alone on the couch with the kids, whom he now turned to.

“What's going on? What’s all that about?”

Auburn looked to Jake as if he would have a better answer.

“Probably nothing.” Green eyes winced as Michael’s terse voice was heard from the other side of the wall. “Maybe.”

The trio sat there in silence, straining to hear what was happening on the other side of the wall but not really wanting to know.

A happy distraction for Wheatley was that Auburn and Jake were apparently a couple now (Wheatley noted with pride that this was something he had had a hand in), and a cute one at that. Concerned as they were, each spent most of their focus on comforting the other: whether it was exchanging nervous smiles, telling cheesy little jokes in hopes of making the other laugh, or simply leaning on each other (both figuratively and literally). Their hands were linked the entire time they sat there.

Several times the kids tried to start up a conversation-- they hadn’t seen Wheatley in about a month-- but such things were short lived and halfhearted. No one was in the mood to talk; not even Wheatley.

They sat there for nearly two hours wondering what was going on.

When they finally got an answer, they wished they hadn’t asked.

\---------------------------------

Chell sat back on the raggedy couch in her spare room and tried to remember that patience was a virtue. The voices that surrounded her were placating. They meant well, she knew, but they were also very tiring.

"Will you at least consider it?"

‘ _ Let’s see….’ _

"No."

" _ Michelle _ ."

Sam, much like Elizabeth, was someone Chell hated to disappoint. For that reason she was trying to be gentle, but this was the third time they’d had this conversation that night.

"I've already considered it and decided against it. It wouldn't be any different, and you know it." Chell glared up at Michael in silent warning. "The only difference between staying here or there is that here you can only try to contradict me once a day. Max. If I moved into the hospital this would be constant." Chell smiled softly up at Claire. "I might have to kill Michael."

"It's not like you haven't already tried."

Claire rolled her eyes.

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Killing Michael?”

“That either.” Claire smirked as her brother nudged her, though the smile quickly faded from her face. “Chell, it’s the middle of winter. The roads are nearly useless this time of year. You have to understand: If something goes wrong and we can’t get here--”

“I know.”

Silence.

"It would be easier for you. For both of you."

"It wouldn't."

More silence.

Michael dug his palms into his eyes.

“You’re not going to be reasonable about this, are you?”

Chell smirked.

“Define reasonable.”

Michael gave a bitter smile.

“Are you even going to talk to him about this?”

Deafening silence.

“That’s what I thought.” He sighed as he ran both hands through his hair, then gave Chell an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry about this.”

Michael took a deep breath.

“Hey Wheatley, come here!”

Chell sat up.

“What on  _ Earth  _ do you think you’re-”

She stopped as Wheatley appeared in the doorway, Auburn and Jake not too stealthily hiding behind him. Chell swatted them away, her panicked glare flickering back and forth from Wheatley to Michael.

“No, no, no! Go back to the living room!”

Michael solemnly shook his head.

“No, don’t listen to her, Wheatley.” Chell scoffed, insulted. “She means well, but she’s not in her right state of mind.”

Sam told the kids to go outside. Each exchanged a worried look with Wheatley before they did so. That didn’t make him feel any better.

Chell stood. Took a step toward Michael. Wheatley took a step back.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Michael’s mouth was set in a hard line.

“Decision time, ‘Shell. Either you can tell him what’s going on, or I will. You pick.”

“Michael James, I am  _ not  _ going to-”

“Alright then.”

“That’s not what I was-- This is  _ not  _ funny.”

“I’m glad you’re finally willing to admit that.”

Michael turned to Wheatley.

“Now, there are some things you need to know that ‘Shell isn’t willing to tell you, so I’m going to-”

“Shut up!”

“Don’t push it, Chell.”

“I mean it Michael, leave him out of this!”

“That is enough!”

Michael snapped up as if he'd been bitten, towering over her. Wheatley was terrified, because height had nothing to with it; he had never seen anyone make Chell look small before.

“We’ve already been through this! All of it! We figured out that you don’t like our help a long time ago, but you told us you would talk to him last time so we could send Sam over here to check on you, and you waited a month to tell him anything! Was that fair to him? Was that fair to you?” To Wheatley’s surprise Michael looked much more hurt than angry. “We all know you couldn’t care less about what happens to you-”

_ “That is not fair-” _

“But the rest of us do.” He pointed at the door. “Those kids outside? They are  _ devastated  _ by what is happening to you. So even if you don’t care about the fact that you’re hurting yourself, you should care that you’re hurting them. That you’re hurting  _ all  _ of us. This disease is  _ killing  _ you, Chell, and if you stay in this house pretending that nothing is wrong, you are only going to help it.”

Chell was shaking. When Michael realized this he looked up at her apologetically. When he spoke again his voice was much more gentle.

“You know I respect you, ‘Shell. But you get like this sometimes, and it’s bad business for everyone involved. You go all human shield on us, and you don’t take care of yourself. Right now you cannot afford to do that. So I’m not giving you the choice. I  _ can’t _ .”

“Wheatley,” Michael turned to him with tired eyes. “Every doctor in this town has tried to convince Chell that she needs to go live at the hospital, because she’s sick, and it’s the middle of winter, and it would generally make a lot more sense if we could keep an eye on her without having to drive across town in the snow.” Chell was attempting to glare holes in the back of Michael’s head. “But Chell doesn’t like that idea, and we’re big ole softies. So she’s going to stay here, and this is what’s going to happen.”

Chell looked up at Michael here, and despite the pain in her eyes Wheatley couldn’t tell whether she was more angry or amused at the idea that she could be controlled.

Though her expression quickly changed.

“Starting now Chell is going to eat three meals a day. She is going to drink seven glasses of water a day. She is going to stay inside this house and keep warm. She is going to allow Sam or Claire to come over here and check on her every day, and she is going to cooperate with them fully and do whatever they ask of her. She is going to take any medication they tell her to take as often as they tell her to take it. She is going to be in bed by nine o’clock at night, every night, be asleep by ten o’clock at night, every night, and stay in bed until ten o’clock in the morning, every morning. Between those hours she is going to spend at least six hours off of her feet--”

“No!”

“Every day. All cooking and cleaning will be done by either you or the neighbors, every one of which has been by this house tonight offering to help.”

Chell looked away. She turned to Sam and Claire, seeking help, but they only nodded in silent agreement. Something in Wheatley's chest ached at the desperation in her eyes.

Michael continued, his voice heavy.

“And if Chell refuses to comply with what I’ve just said, or becomes unable to do so-- if  _ anything  _ goes wrong-- you are going to call us,” He turned to Wheatley. “Immediately. You are going to call this number every day at twelve o’clock noon regardless of whether or not anything is wrong so I know Chell hasn’t taken the phone away from you, something I know for a  _ fact  _ she has done before.” Chell glared at the carpet. “But she  _ isn’t  _ going to take the phone from you, because if she refuses to help herself or allow us to help her  _ here,  _ she will find herself living in the  _ hospital  _ where we can.”

He looked at both Wheatley and Chell.

“Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes.” Wheatley said.

Chell glared up at them with a silent scowl, her eyes glistening with angry tears. She was shaking.

“Yes.”

That one syllable was filled with emotion and pure hate. Wheatley had never seen Chell look so utterly hurt: Like a child who'd been yelled at, and sent to bed without dinner when she'd done nothing wrong.

To his credit Michael was obviously very sorry about all of this.

“I’m sorry, ‘Shell.” He murmured. He tried to take her hand, but she wouldn’t let him. “I tried to make it easier. I did. I’m sorry it had to come to this, but it’s for your own good.”

Chell looked him dead in the eyes.

“Get out.”

Michael gave a terse nod.

“Good idea.” He said.

He then turned to Wheatley.

“Why don’t the two of us step outside? I’d like to speak to you alone for a minute.”

Chell shook her head, still glaring up at Michael.

“You don’t have to listen to him, Wheatley.”

“You most certainly don’t.” Michael smiled wryly. “But you should.”

And he did.

For a reason Wheatley couldn’t seem to place, he found himself following Michael out the front door.

\-------------------------------------------

Wheatley waited until the door closed to speak.

He and Michael were alone: Sam and Claire had stayed in the house with Chell, and since it was freezing outside (something Wheatley had forgotten, along with a winter coat), the kids were huddled together in the car.

Which was good, because Wheatley was furious.

“Why did you  _ yell  _ at her like that?”

“Wheatley--”

“No!” He snapped, surprising them both. “There's no excuse for that! I know you're only trying to help her, but she doesn't feel well as it is and you didn't have to be so harsh about it!”

“Yes I did.”

“Why?”

Michael sounded tired.

“Because I know her, Wheatley. Better than you do, believe it or not.” Michael gave a huff of laughter that spiraled into the frozen air. “I know that she's stubborn, and she doesn't take care of herself, especially when there's someone else around for her to take care of.” Why did Wheatley feel insulted? “You've seen it. I know you have.” Michael shook his head. “The only way to get her to listen is if I threaten to haul her off to the hospital. I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”

Now it was Michael’s turn to look insulted.

“Do you think I  _ enjoyed  _ talking to her like that? I  _ hate  _ fighting with her. And after that, I'll probably be lucky if she ever speaks to me again.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But if that's the cost of keeping her alive, so be it.”

As Wheatley watched Michael stand there and press his palms into his eyes, he felt something he almost recognized but didn’t understand. It definitely wasn’t jealousy… it was more like…

_ Oh God. _

Michael turned his attention back to Wheatley.

“Wheatley,  _ please  _ understand, I don't want you to do these things just because I’m telling you to do them. I want you to do them, because they’re going to help Chell stay safer and healthier longer. I need you to do these things for  _ her _ . As demanding, and harsh, and mean as this may seem, all of it is for her own good.” Michael looked up at him seriously. “Which is why I need you to do what I asked even if, and especially if, Chell tells you not to.”

Wheatley frowned. Knowingly, willingly disobey Chell? Right in front of her? Constantly?

“Will you do that?” Michael asked.

Chell really was going to kill him.

“Yes.” Wheatley nodded.

Michael gave him a pat on the back.

“Thank you.”

Wheatley didn’t have time to respond.

“Everything I've told you tonight is written down here.” Michael pulled a notepad, cord, and cell phone out of one of his coat pockets. “Here’s a cell phone and a charger. Always keep that phone charged in case you need it. Charge it every night, so you'll have it with you during the day.” Wheatley nodded as he took everything. “If you have any questions or you're worried about anything at all, go ahead and call. Either Sam or Claire will be out here every day to check on her, which should give you some peace of mind, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.”

“And Wheatley?”

Michael gave a satiric smile.

Wheatley tried not to wince.

“Yes?”

Once again there was a hand on Wheatley’s back, though this time the gesture wasn’t nearly as friendly.

“If anything happens to Chell, because of  _ you _ ?” Green eyes glinted dangerously. “You’ll have  _ both  _ of us to answer to.”

Wheatley shuddered.

“Understood.”

He was released.

“Good. Now go inside before you freeze to death.”

“Good idea.”

“Thanks again for the help.” Michael raised a hand in farewell as he headed towards the car. “Try to stay to stay on her good side.”

Wheatley would certain try to do just that, but it wasn't going to be easy.

Chell made a point of getting into bed at 9:01.

\----------------------------------------------

One week later Wheatley leafed through the book of poems as Chell coughed. They were curled up together on the bed of the pull out couch, covered in blankets, with a small pile of books at their feet. It was nearing the end of a quiet day in the middle of a quiet week.

Whatever sickness Chell had had reinstated its presence in the past few days. As much as Chell hated Michael’s laundry list of rules (and had originally found tiny ways to rebel against most of them), she had spent most of the week in bed with too little energy to fight them.

Though she tried to hide it, Chell was miserable and in pain, and to a degree, because of the medication she was taking, she was not herself. As much as Wheatley hated this, he couldn't do a thing about it.

So he did what he could for everything else.

In the days before and the days that followed, Wheatley was constantly at Chell’s side. He brought her whatever she needed, and offered what comforts he could; If she was feeling clingy he would cuddle up next to her; If she needed space he would retreat to the other side of the room. When she spent the entire night coughing, unable to sleep, Wheatley remained calm and assured her that everything would be okay as he called for help. Wheatley followed all of Michael’s rules, and got Chell to do the same, but he also spoiled her with hot chocolates, and movie nights, and books. He tried to make things easier for Chell. He tried to make things better.

Most of the time Chell was quiet and still, curled up against him as they sat in silence and watched the snow fall. This was because the medicine she took made her passive and sleepy.

Sam came over everyday with more medication, and a question in her eyes. Wheatley wasn’t completely sure what the question was, but Chell’s answer was always the same.

“Not yet.”

Wheatley closed the book as Chell tugged at his sleeve.

“What’s the matter, love?” He gave a lopsided smile as she yawned. “Tired? All finished with the books for today?”

She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder.

Wheatley wasn't surprised. Sam had left about half an hour earlier. Every evening she came she gave Chell some kind of medicine that made her sleepy. She tried to fight it off for as long as she could, sitting there in a half dead trance, but sleep was good for her and was becoming harder to come by.

“That’s alright.” Wheatley nuzzled her gently as his head came to rest atop hers. “Just cuddling is good, too.”

He ran a hand through her hair as they looked out the window.

Chell blinked back tears.

“It’s snowing.”

\----------------------------------------------

Wheatley watched as Chell woke up.

A grimace flickered across her face as she tried for a deep breath, then relaxed. After a solid week of misery she was finally beginning to feel a little bit better.

Michael and Sam warned them not to push it.

“Morning, love.” He purred, squeezing her hand from where he was kneeled at her side.

“Good morning.” Chell was about to get up when Wheatley placed a tray in her lap.

“Breakfast.”

Chell made a disgruntled noise.

Wheatley hadn't given her much, a small bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, but she didn't have much of an appetite these days. Her eating habits lead to more arguments (more like threats to call Michael) than anything else. Apparently Wheatley’s solution to this was to pin her. Literally.

Chell wrinkled her nose at him as took a bite of cereal.

Come to think of it, Wheatley was acting rather strange in general that morning.

He usually lounged around in bed long after Chell had left (or at least he had before Chell had gotten sick), and it was a true rarity that he would get up before her. Wheatley had always found physical contact reassuring, and, much to Chell's begrudging amusement, greatly enjoyed cuddling.

The point was, Wheatley would usually invent reasons for the necessity of Chell's presence (or go to her himself). He never passed one by when it came his way, and yet here he was, up, showered, dressed, with a meal already prepared for the both of them before she had even woken up. To top it all, Wheatley was far from a morning person.

“You've been up early this morning.”

He repeated her disgruntled noise before heading towards the door with a stack of blankets.

She laughed.

“Wheatley? Where are you-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” He pointed at her. “Stay right there. It's a surprise.”

Chell looked skeptical.

“I don't like surprises.”

“You'll like this one.” Wheatley smiled as he opened the front door. “I promise.”

He returned a few minutes later, blanket free. Chell had to show him her empty dished before she was allowed to get up.

“Alright! The surprise is outside--”

Chell crossed her arms.

“I thought I wasn't  _ allowed  _ to go outside.”

“Whoops.” Wheatley looked down at her blankly before tossing his cell phone onto the carpet in the front room. “I seem to have dropped my phone. Such a shame, that. Oh well.”

The light in Chell’s eyes could have rivaled the sun. Wheatley felt his face turn red as her hand found his.

“The surprise is outside, so you can't see it until you bundle up. And I mean, really bundle up. Four layers of clothes, gloves, hat, scarves, fuzzy socks, winter boots--”

“I get the idea.”

He squeezed her hand.

“As long as you don't get sick.”

\------------------------------------

Chell stood on the front porch of her house wearing four layers of clothes, two winter coats, and a very confused expression.

“A bench?” She asked.

That was the surprise: a wooden bench with a stack of blankets sitting on top of it.

“Yup.”

Wheatley looked proud of himself.

Chell didn't own a bench.

She fought back a laugh.

“Where did you  _ get _ this?”

“Top secret.”

The neighbors house.

“And what's it for?”

“Um… sitting?” Chell looked up at him, deadpan. “Okay, okay. It's-you've-” He cleared his throat. “Since you're… sick, and it's winter, and you have to follow all those silly rules, you've been stuck in the house an awful lot. And I know you hate it. I keep seeing you look out the window all longingly, watching the snowfall and-” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Someone who cares so much about freedom should be able to experience it whenever they want.” Chell blinked. “I thought you might like to watch the snow from outside. Not behind a window.” Wheatley suddenly looked concerned. “Are you okay? Or was that- that was a stupid question.”

“I'm fine. I-” Before either of them knew what had happened Chell had trapped him in a hug. Wheatley had momentarily stopped breathing. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“We don't have to stay out here if you don't want to, but I thought it might be nice. The layers and blankets and everything should help to keep you warm, for a little while, at least. We can sit and watch the snow fall.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Chell had always wanted to do something like this. In past years she had spent afternoons playing with the children in the snow, but because Michael took the porch swing down in the winter, there was really no place to sit outside and watch the snow fall.

Now she was huddled with Wheatley on the little wooden bench under a pile of blankets. He was sweet in his fussy mannerisms: making sure she was covered up and comfortable, squeezing her gloved hand with his as if attempting to keep her warm.

The snow fell all around them, drifting lazily to the ground where it lay in a perfect blanket of white.

Underneath the blankets Chell pried one of her gloves off. It took a moment to free her hand from under the pile (just about every blanket she owned was out here), but once she did she reached down and collected a handful of snow. She shivered as it melted in her palm, her eyes lit with childlike wonder.

“It's always colder than you think it’ll be.” She said, holding her palm up to show Wheatley.

“Well don't do  _ that _ .” Wheatley scoffed. “Here,” He took her bare hand in both of his gloved ones. “Your hands are so  _ tiny _ .” He smiled at her. “Sometimes I can't get over it.”

“What?”

“I don't- don't take this the wrong way- but,” He blanched. “You were terrifying.”

Chell’s expression was caught between amused and insulted.

“What?”

“You were! I was scared of you. Everyone was scared of you! I mean, She was essentially God, right? And you dethroned Her in, what, ten minutes?” Chell looked stunned. “It's funny!” Wheatley laughed. “You wreaked so much havoc, but you're so small. How could such a little lady cause so much trouble?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes shone with admiration. “You know what else is funny?” He gave a goofy smile as he helped guide her hand back into her glove. “I never really noticed how small you were until I came here.” Chell gave him a questioning smile. “You loomed large back There. But in reality- you're so small. And nice. You're not scary at all. Not really. You're a sweet little lady who likes books and hot chocolate and keeping house. And-” He stopped. “I didn't know.” He almost looked sad. “I never realized just how… how human you were.”

Chell's breath hitched.

She and Wheatley were sitting very close, huddling together for warmth and all, but at some point during that conversation they had moved much, much closer. One of her hands had moved to his face, seemingly of its own accord, and suddenly Wheatley’s breath was just a little too close to hers, just a little too warm.  _ Everything _ was too warm. Her face was turning hot; she felt flush under all those layers of clothes and blankets. The way her breath caught somewhere in her chest was both pleasant and painful as her pulse beat harder, hopeful and frightened, and she  _ knew _ she shouldn't but she found leaning forward,  _ closer _ , and--

_ ‘Neither did I.’ _

Chell froze.

As gently as she could manage, she freed her hand from his and pulled away. She was infinitely grateful for the cold, because her hands were shaking and she knew that the temperature had nothing to do with it. She only hoped Wheatley would mistake it for the cold instead of realizing it for what it really was.

Chell offered a placating smile in attempt to appease the confusion (disappointment? Panic?) in his eyes.

“Not always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness, and fluff, and angst, and Michael, and sickness, and an almost kiss!
> 
> How you doing there, reader?
> 
> I hope the pacing on this wasn’t terrible. Where I’ve shortened this fic I’ve got to fit many things in not so many chapters. So now we have sections! Pieces of Pieces of Pieces.
> 
> I think most chapters from here on out have a few sections, but there’s only one that has nearly as many as this chapter. This was a lot, I realize. 
> 
> Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, please please please review! 
> 
> Also! Just a quick note since I got a few comments on this: Elizabeth and Chell are not dying of the same thing. Eliza’s an old lady with heart problems. Chell was exposed to Bad Things in old Aperture.
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you next week!


	28. Linger

The more Chell thought the more alarmed she became.

She and Wheatley were polar opposites in most things, and one of those things was that Chell’s plans were solid. Two months ago, as she sat in a hospital bed and tried to breathe, she had made a plan that went like this: Wheatley was leaving. He didn’t get a say in the matter, Chell didn’t care  _ what  _ he had to say on the subject, or what she had to say or do to make him leave, because this was for his own good. He was never going to know about This- he was never going to see This happen to her. End of discussion.

Chell tried to follow through on her plan as soon as she could. It was hard because she  _ believed  _ This wasn’t Wheatley’s fault. She didn’t want to treat him as though it was, but she had to do this for his sake.

From the moment Chell came home she was distant towards Wheatley, literally and figuratively. Her attempt at this was shoddy and half hearted, because she didn’t want to do it. Still she tried.

When she came home from the hospital that morning, she and Wheatley exchanged a brief greeting, but Chell didn’t answer any of his questions; she went straight to her room, and stayed there for the rest of the day. When Chell finally came out for dinner she said little, and snapped at him at the first opportunity.

Then, with practically no explanation, she left him alone for nearly three days.

When Chell returned the two of them fought and yelled, because she wouldn’t tell him anything, and she slammed a door in his face.

This was the cycle Chell repeated over and over again for nearly a month, her absences growing longer, her behavior becoming worse as her health declined, and the end goal became more and more necessary. The more time passed the more horrible things Chell was willing to say and do (and said and did) in an attempt to make Wheatley leave.

Her plan should have worked.

But there were two problems Chell hadn’t accounted for.

Humiliating as it was, the first was her emotional state.

During the month she spent trying to scare Wheatley off, Chell was depressed, and frightened, and guilty, and generally emotional. She was sick and in pain. One of her dearest friends was dying, and Chell spent the majority of her time alone, hiding as much of this as she could from as many people as possible. So one night when Chell had come home from the hospital-- where she’d spent the day visiting Elizabeth, and being gently scolded by Sam-- Wheatley came looking for answers, and Chell lost it.

The outburst was brief, but the evening ended in a breakdown. Wheatley was worried about her, and wanted to know what was going on. Chell (feeling, not thinking) told him what she could-- more than she should have-- because of the second problem.

Wheatley  _ would not leave. _

It didn’t matter what Chell said or did, how loud she yelled or how long she neglected him. Wheatley stayed. He stayed, and worried, and took the abuse, and tried everything he could to help her no matter how hard she pushed him away-- and Chell did not understand why.

And what was worse, this second problem seemed to  _ combine  _ with the first, leading Chell to make careless mistakes. It was a horrible cycle: the longer Wheatley stayed the worse Chell treated him, and the more he endured, the more she wanted to tell him the truth, and the bigger her mistakes became. These escalated from panicking, to crying, to leaving the door to her room unlocked.

Looking back at how neatly these events fit together, Chell wondered just how many of these mistakes had truly been accidents: Because part of her had thought all along that Wheatley  _ deserved  _ the truth for sticking around through all of this. Part of her thought that, if Wheatley could handle the way she was treating him, he could probably handle the reason she was treating him that way.

And just maybe, some horribly selfish part of Chell wanted the truth to come out, because she  _ wanted  _ Wheatley to stay. She was ashamed to admit it but she did: she  _ wanted  _ him there with her for This. Chell enjoyed his company. She enjoyed his presence in her home, and she didn’t want to face This alone.

And really, if the truth did come out-- if Wheatley already knew what was going to happen-- there would be no point in driving him away.

So that was what had happened.

Wheatley had found out that Chell was sick, and though he was upset, he had handled the information much better than Chell had expected him to. And he had stayed. And she had let him.

After that Chell's plans went out the window.

Ever since the truth had come out, Chell had told Wheatley practically everything. If that wasn't bad enough it felt as though the two of them were now growing closer-- and really, how could they not? They sat together all day, talking, and reading, and sleeping, and enjoying each other's warmth, and at night they shared a bed.

Chell had only just realized that this was creating a new problem:

Ever since Wheatley had found out about her being sick, Chell hadn't spent nearly as much time thinking about the next logical move in protecting him. About sensibility. She had spent too much time feeling and not enough thinking.

Chell knew that Wheatley didn't want to be lied to-- and she didn't want to lie to him-- but she could be honest without being selfish.

And right now she  _ was  _ being selfish. Maybe with everything she had been through, and everything that she was going through, she deserved to be just a little selfish, but Wheatley did not deserve what she was about to do to him.

Today they were both going to be reminded of that.

Good days and bad days were no longer as cut and dry as they had once been. Everything felt muddled now, to Chell: good days were now unpleasant while bad days were pure misery. Today, at least, was the former. She and Wheatley made a point of reading together every day, and though today they lingered in bed Chell felt well enough to read to him. This meant that she got to pick what they read.

"Find anything good?" Wheatley asked, shifting next to her.

Chell didn’t answer, and instead began to read.

"It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

_ I _ was a child and  _ she _ was a child, In this kingdom by the sea:

But we loved with a love that was more than love--

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me--

Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we--

Of many far wiser than we--

And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea."

Chell could feel the tension in the air as she stopped.

Wheatley all but glared at the book in her hands.

"Why are we reading the depressing poem again?"

" _ Annabel Lee _ ." Chell clarified. "I promised I would explain it to you. Remember?"

"I don't want you to." Wheatley said. "It's  _ sad _ \- I don't-" He tried for a smile. "Can't you analyze a happy poem? Or something? Why don't you find me another one of those?"

"Because you need to hear this one... Do you know what this poem is?”

“A tragedy.”

“Maybe. What else?”

“I don't know.”

“Guess.”

“I don't want to.”  

Chell gave a sad smile as she thumbed through the pages.

“It's a love story.”

Wheatley gave an indignant scoff.

“Nope. No.  _ That  _ is not a love story.”

“The word love is used eight times, Wheatley. It’s a love story.”

“Really? Because I thought love stories were supposed to end with both people being  _ alive  _ and still in love. They  _ lived  _ happily ever after-- key word being  _ lived--  _ the end.”

“You obviously haven’t read Romeo and Juliet.”

The smile Chell was fighting quickly faded at her next question.

“Do you understand... what happens in the poem?"

Wheatley made a noise that was somewhere between a choke and a whine. Chell bit the inside of her mouth.

"Chell, love,  _ please- _ "

"Tell me what happens." She said. Then, softer. “Please.”

Wheatley gave her a halfhearted glare.

"No."

He crossed his arms, and turned away from her for all of two seconds before he remembered that he didn't have the right to refuse her anything.

"I don’t-” Wheatley dug his nails into his palm as he looked at Chell. He somehow found himself on the verge of a smile. “He loved her.” She froze. “And everything was perfect, and they were happy, and together, and then-” His gaze dropped back to the book in her lap. “And then she got sick.” Wheatley swallowed as he looked away. “She died. And then he was all alone.”

Chell took a deep breath.

"He loved her  _ too much _ ." She said. “She was his world, and when she died he didn’t know how to cope.” Chell gave a bittersweet smile as she looked up at Wheatley. “That’s what being in love is like.” She said. “Everything feels perfect at the start, and you think it’ll stay that way forever, but the truth is, people change, and leave, and--” She stopped. “It ends. And you don’t know what to do.” Chell looked away. “I wish it didn’t work that way, but it does.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Chell suddenly felt very timid.

“Wheatley...” Her face tinged pink at the softness in her voice. “Do you remember what you said…. Before?”

“Before…?” It took him a moment to process what she meant, but when he did he turned bright red. “Oh. That.” He swallowed, his voice weak. “Yes. I do.”

“Do you… Still feel the same way?”

Wheatley blinked up at her, confused.

“...You told me--”

“Wheatley.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

“ _ Yes _ .” His shoulders sagged as he gave her a helpless smile. “I do. Of course I do.” Wheatley bit his lip as he chanced a glance up at her. “...Do y--”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Chell’s expression was hard, and it sent Wheatley’s heart plummeting.

“You  _ shouldn’t _ .” She urged. "Do you understand? This is why-- You have to understand that-- being in love isn't always a good thing. It isn't always a happy thing."

“I guess… I wouldn’t know.”

Chell looked back down at the book.

“Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“The poem is all from his perspective.” Chell said, tapping a page. “He loved her, and he says that she loved him, but  _ she  _ never says it. We never hear  _ her say _ she loves him back.” Her face tinged pink as she continued. “And that doesn’t mean for certain that she  _ didn’t  _ say it, or that she  _ didn’t  _ love him-- but what  _ if  _ she didn’t?” Chell looked up at Wheatley. “What if he dedicated his entire life to her when she didn’t love him? What if he was so devastated by her death that he threw the rest of his life away, and she never loved him to begin with?”

Wheatley looked hurt.

“I was wrong before.” Chell said. “It was wrong of me to tell you--” She winced. “I practically told you that your feelings are invalid. I’m sorry for that.” Chell wrung her hands. “I think I was trying to convince myself that… you couldn’t feel, or you didn’t understand what you felt, because what you said scared me.” Her expression softened as she looked up at Wheatley. “But  _ of course _ you can feel, and you understand your feelings just as well as I do. And you genuinely care about me. You’re doing everything you can to help me, because you want me to be happy. It seems like- my happiness is the most important thing in the world to you. And maybe- you do love me.”

Wheatley’s heart skipped a beat.

“Which is all the more reason why I really don’t want to hurt you.”

And fell once again.

“Chell-”

“No.” She said firmly. “I don’t want either one of us to get hurt any worse than we already have to.”

She took a steadying breath.

“So I don’t want this. And you have to understand this.” Chell snapped the book shut. “We  _ are not _ in love.” Wheatley flinched. “We are not in a relationship of any kind. And yes, I am sick, but it’s not the doing of an angry, jealous God, fallen or otherwise.” Chell took his hands in hers. “And you’re not alone. You won’t be alone whether I’m here or not. You’re never going to be alone. You’re surrounded by an entire town of people who care about you, and they’re going to make sure you’re okay whether I’m here or not.” Chell squeezed his hands earnestly. “And most important of all, you are a capable human being who can and will function without me. At this point, you’re the one taking care of me. Your existence does not depend on mine. You don’t need me. I promise. Okay?” They were both on the verge of tears. “You’re so sweet, and I know you’re only trying to help, but I can’t… take any more of this. I can’t.” She pulled away from him. “I’m sorry.” She said. Chell swept the blankets aside and stood.

“I don’t feel like reading anymore.”

Chell retreated to her room.

But she left the door open.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAD CHAPTER
> 
> Some time before writing Metaphor I found a really old analysis of Annabel Lee (probably my favorite poem) that I had written. Just for fun I mentioned the poem in Metaphor (because when you really look at it it's about some crazy stuff), but then I realized that the poem actually relates to the direction in which Pieces is now heading. And whatdaya know, it fits pretty well.
> 
> Annabel Lee was written by Edgar Allen Poe.
> 
> Chell is not a sonnet 73 fan.


	29. Roads

Chell was surrounded by a darkness of a different kind. This was not the dark of a frigid winter night, pierced with falling snow or studded with stars. This was a weighted darkness, all encompassing, crushing, suffocating.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry for help-- not that it really mattered, because Chell knew she was all alone: no one was there to help her.

Her panic heightened as the darkness became heavier and heavier, weighing down on her until she no longer had the energy to fight-- until she was forced to succumb.

And then there was light.

Yellow light.

Blood roared hot in Chell’s ears as she woke, splayed on the floor of Her chamber, unable to move. The room was drenched in blinding yellow light, and Chell was too weak to shield her eyes.

The light gently lulled from the side as She watched Chell squirm, then stilled as She spoke.

Her voice was filled with accusation and awe as She leaned closer.

 "Look at what He did to you.”

 Chell grimaced, turning away from both Her words and the blinding light in her face.

She sighed as if disappointed, the light bobbing back and forth as She did the equivalent of shaking Her head. "It’s such a shame.” She lamented. “You were  _ perfect  _ before He came along and ruined you. You were strong and tenacious: you didn't feel anything. You were the perfect test subject. Now look.” Chell flinched as She came closer once again. “He did this. He  _ broke  _ you." Chell tried to sit up and failed, falling back hard against the tiles, every part of her aching with shame and fear. "He made you weak, and emotional, and vulnerable. He poisoned you in every sense of the word, and then he left you to die." Grey eyes flew open wide. She turned away, disinterested. “But then, it’s not the first time that’s happened.”

A claw swung down from the ceiling and suddenly Chell was eye to optic with Her.

The last time this had happened Chell had been livid, squirming and kicking and prying at the iron band around her ribs, all while giving the AI that held her captive a glare that could’ve burned a hole in Her CPU. Now Chell was petrified, stiff as a board, her fire long replaced by ash and dust.

"What do you think is going to happen when you can't move? When you can't speak?"

_ ‘No, no,  _ **_no_ ** _ \--’ _

"When you can't protect them anymore?"

Suddenly the room was filled with a cacophony of noise: cries of pain, and wails of grief, and pleas for help, all of them for Chell. She looked down in horror to find that the floor was moving, covered with the former population of Horizon.

"If you like I can wait until you're Gone to take them. But it would be a lot more fun to make you watch."

They were all there: Elizabeth, unable to stand, the kids, clinging desperately to each other and their parents-- they were all there, all clad in prison orange, all grasping helplessly up at Chell, screaming her name. And as hard as Chell tried she couldn’t reach, she couldn’t get free-- she couldn’t save them.

“I can  _ always  _ use more test subjects. Though, if I’m honest, I doubt they'll last very long." She purred as the band around Chell’s rib cage tightened, pulling her farther away from her friends down below. " _ You’re _ not even lasting as long as I expected. That’s the beauty part, though. From here on out I can do whatever I want, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’m finally  _ free _ .” At that Chell did glare up at Her, and the light in her face shone all the brighter. “Don’t even  _ try _ . You may be stubborn but you're also human, and believe me when I say that is not an advantage, it is a  _ weakness _ ." She hissed. "You’re in no condition to fight, and you never will be again. All thanks to Him.” She paused, Her voice turning coy. “And speaking of Him...” Chell froze. “I won't even  _ have  _ to take Him. Do you know why?”

Chell panicked, searching frantically below. She had said that Wheatley was gone, and he wasn’t down there with the others. Where was he? What had She done with him?

“He's going to leave you. He's going to abandon you, just like He did before. You know He is."

He was.

Chell finally found Wheatley, away from everyone else. While the people of Horizon were coming towards her, in an attempt to save her or themselves, Wheatley was walking in the opposite direction.

"He's going to leave you before you can leave  _ Him _ , and He'll spend the rest of his miserable little life hiding, convincing Himself that you're still alive, because He is  _ weak,  _ and  _ stupid,  _ and  _ selfish,  _ and no matter how much you trust Him  _ He cannot handle This _ .” Chell tried to reach for him, but he was too far away, and her voice didn’t work. She couldn’t call to him, couldn’t ask him  _ why  _ he was doing this, why he was leaving her Here.

“He’s going to betray you all over again.”

He was leaving all of them Here all alone, completely defenseless, and he didn’t even care.

_ ‘Wheatley!’ _

“Look around,” She purred. “He already has.”

* * *

 

Chell shot up in bed, gasping for air as her heart beat hard behind her ribs.

She was alone in the dark, much like in her nightmare, but, she reminded herself as she tried to breathe, there was a reasonable explanation for this. Chell had returned to sleeping in her room (now with the door open); Wheatley still slept on the couch. That was why he wasn’t there with her-- not because he’d left her.

_ He's going to leave you. He's going to abandon you, just like He did before. You know He is. _

...Though it couldn’t hurt to double check.

Chell took a deep breath, steadying herself before calling out into the darkness.

“Wheatley?”

Nothing.

_ He's going to leave you before you can leave  _ Him--

Again. Louder.

“Wheatley?”

Nothing.

_ \--and He'll spend the rest of his miserable little life hiding, convincing Himself that you're still alive, because He is  _ weak _ , and  _ stupid _ , and  _ selfish _ , and no matter how much you trust Him-- _

Something in the house creaked. Chell’s throat began to burn.

_ “Wheatley!” _

_ He cannot handle This _ .

Chell’s cry echoed across the house, unanswered. A bout of nausea hit as she began to cough, and the room was spinning, and her eyes burned, and he was _gone_. _He_ _really was_ gone, and Chell didn’t know if it was because he had _left_ , or because She had--

“Chell?”

A Wheatley sized blur breezed past the doorway before Chell heard a crash at the end of the hall. Indistinct Wheatley grumbling could be heard before he reemerged in the doorway, panicked and disheveled but still in one piece.  

“I’m right here, right here!” He was at her side in two seconds flat. “What’s the matter, love? Are you alright? Are you-- Oof!” Wheatley choked as Chell trapped him in a (very tight) hug, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt. He was about to remind her that he was still human and therefore still required oxygen to breathe, when he realized that Chell was trembling and his shirt was quickly becoming wet. “Oh, you’re--” Wheatley returned her embrace, nuzzling her gently as he traced patterns onto her back. “Shhh, I’m right here, love. You’re okay, everything's okay.”

“ _ Wheatley _ .”

“ _ Yes _ .” Her voice shattered his heart into a million pieces. “Right here, love. Always will be. What’s the matter? What do you need?”

Chell pulled back and looked up at him through tear stained eyes, too exhausted to be ashamed.

“You.” She said. “Here.”

* * *

 

Chell waited until Wheatley was asleep before reaching for the emergency phone.

She dialed the number in the dark, completely apathetic to the time of night. Chell spoke softly so as not to wake Wheatley, and she skipped the pleasantries.  

“I need you to check on Jake.”

“Check on Jake?” Michael asked groggily.

“Jake, Auburn, Elizabeth, Wayne, Sam, Claire-- everyone. Make sure they’re all okay.”

“Alright. I can do that.” Michael said. “Hold on a minute.”

Chell waited, focusing on the sound of Wheatley’s gentle snoring and trying not to think. A few minutes later Michael returned.

“Everyone’s accounted for.”

Chell leaned back, feeling much lighter.

“Good.”

But not everyone lived at the hospital.

Michael practically read her mind.

“Do you… want me to call the others?”

“Not now.” Chell said. “In the morning. There’s no sense in waking everyone up.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.”

She grimaced as she fought back another bout of coughing.

“Michael,” She took a deep breath. “There are some things… I need to talk to you about. Not now, but soon.”

“Anything you need.” He sounded concerned. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Chell looked from Wheatley to the road outside her window, and the rest of the town beyond.

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's literally everyone else.
> 
> Please review!


	30. Tragedy

 The past few days were the best Wheatley and Chell had had in a long time. 

 After two weeks of nearly nonstop coughing, Chell was finally beginning to feel a bit better: her coughing had subsided substantially to the point where she could return to sleeping peacefully through the night. 

 Chell hadn't been able to get much sleep here lately, and she was going to catch up on as much as she could while she could. For that reason she and Wheatley had opted to spend the day dozing in bed. 

 The weather was also perfect for sleeping. Horizon was still and quiet. Dark snow clouds had settled over town that morning, and now they shielded the sun and left the town in dreary shadow. Snow drifted silently, as it did almost constantly this time of year, and the cold combined with grey skies made both Wheatley and Chell feel terribly lazy. They spent the day curled up in bed under a pile of blankets, a tangle of limbs and warmth as they slept without a care in the world.

 It was heaven.

 And then the phone rang.

* * *

 

 Wheatley gave a muffled groan as he heard the phone ring, burying his face further into his pillow and trying to wrap an arm around Chell in an attempt to keep her from leaving. He’d been about to fall over from exhaustion for nearly two weeks, and he wasn’t the one who was sick. Chell needed to rest and whoever was on the phone could wait. His attempt at keeping her there didn’t work, though: She pulled free with minimal effort, cold air rushing in to replace her warmth as left him alone. 

 Wheatley was a much heavier sleeper than Chell, so by the time he was lucid enough to realize that Chell was not only answering the phone but actually leaving the warmth of the bed to take her conversation elsewhere, she was already gone.

 And he could guess why. As the fogginess of sleep abandoned him Wheatley remembered Chell’s words from the awful night that had started this mess: the night she’d first found out she was sick.

_ ‘Phones are only used for emergencies.’ _

 Wheatley sat up with a shiver, ice sliding down his spine as the deafening silence of the house spoke volumes. 

__ Something else had happened. Something else had gone wrong.

 And as he listened for any signs of life, Wheatley was torn between giving Chell space to process things on her own (she obviously wasn’t happy if she’d run off to her room) and rushing to her in an attempt to offer her comfort and find out what was wrong. 

 In the end Wheatley decided on a mix of both, waiting about twenty minutes (which in his current state of alarm felt much longer) before cautiously padding down the hallway to investigate.

 Wheatley found Chell in her room, the door to which, he noted with a doleful smile, was pulled to, not shut. He bit his lip, knocking hesitantly before peeking inside.

 "Hey," A nervous half smile flickered across his face as he cracked the door open. "Are you alright? I heard the phone..."

 Wheatley felt a pang of remorse as he noticed Chell was slumped over on the bed, her head in her hands. He couldn’t see her face but her voice was thick with grief.

 She wouldn't look at him.

 "Elizabeth passed away this morning." 

 Wheatley’s heart clenched.

 "Oh God,” He screwed his eyes shut, the rest of the words lodged in his throat. Though he was ashamed to admit it, with everything else that had been going on as of late, he had almost forgotten that Chell’s friend was sick. Now all the memories he had of the sweet little lady that lived across the street flooded back to him in a wave of grief, and guilt, and concern for Chell. “I'm so sorry." He sat down next to her, tentatively wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he pulled her closer into a makeshift hug. Chell submitted without protest, and Wheatley felt another pang of worry at how limp she felt against him as he rubbed circles into her back. “Do you-- do you… need anything? Is there anything I can do?” 

 Wheatley felt more than saw her shake her head and went silent after that, offering what small comforts he could as Chell grieved.

 It wasn't a repeat of the breakdown Chell had had the night she'd first told Wheatley about Elizabeth being sick. She had seemed angry then-- bitter at least-- overcome with grief and raw emotion, both of which she'd been bottling up for weeks. This was different. Chell had no energy now, she'd felt and expressed more than her fair share of grief and emotion in the past few weeks, and so now she was nearly devoid of both, left to mourn in a kind of heartbroken silence, eyes dull and posture slumped as tears slipped silently down her cheeks. Something inside of Wheatley ached to his core at knowing she was in so much pain and there wasn’t anything he could do about any of it.

 Eventually Chell went still, gazing out the window at the snow.

 “They’re having a gathering tonight at the Hospital.” She said, shifting next to him. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I feel like I should. I need to.”

 Wheatley made a small pained noise.

 “Chell,” He tried to sound gentle despite the worry knotting in his stomach. “I know how important Elizabeth was to you, but are you sure you’re feeling up to all of this?” He ran a hand through her hair, offering her a faltering smile as she frowned up at him. “It’s just-- You’ve been so tired lately, and you’re just now starting to feel better. If you go to the hospital you’ll be out in the cold, and you won't get home until late, and you’ll get all upset.  _ More  _ upset. I just-- I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

 Chell had no response to that save for resting her head on Wheatley’s shoulder, understanding. He relaxed a bit at knowing he hadn’t evoked her rage: the last thing he wanted was to make Chell angry on top of everything else. He gave a thoughtful hum as he rested his head atop hers.

 “But it’s your decision, of course. I can’t make you do anything and I wouldn’t want to. And whatever you decide to do, I’ll go with you. You know that, don’t you? You never have to worry about that.” His fingers entwined with hers, giving them a soft squeeze. “So what do you want to do?”

 Chell pulled away, looking up at him with a tight smile. 

 Both of them already knew the answer.

* * *

 

 Chell was taking a very long time to get ready.

 She had briefly explained to him that, in Horizon, people often wore nice clothes in dark colors when someone passed away. For that reason Wheatley was dressed in a black button down shirt and dark jeans, not owning anything much fancier that fit Chell’s requirements. She had given him a wry smile as she looked him over, smoothing out his shirt and softly lamenting that they would need to get him a suit sometime soon before disappearing to finish getting ready. 

 An hour later Wheatley broke down and knocked on her door, more worried than he cared to admit. 

  "You alright in there? Do you need any help?" Wheatley felt himself turn bright red at his poor choice of words, and quickly scrambled to make amends. "I mean, I don't mean-- that sounded really um, very... You obviously don't need any help getting dressed. Not what I meant.” Wheatley pressed his palms into his eyes, silently berating himself. Hopefully Chell was at least getting a laugh at his antics. “What I meant was, are you alright in there? Are you okay? Holding up and all?” He asked weakly, biting his lip at the lack of response. “I know you're having a rough... I know this is all very hard on you.” His gaze sank to the floor with a heavy heart. “You don’t deserve all of this-- don’t deserve  _ any  _ of it-- ...and if there’s anything I can do to help, to make things easier, just say the word and I’ll--” 

 Wheatley was interrupted as the door swung open, and after that he wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence.  

 Chell stood in front of him in a floor length black dress, her hair pulled into a braid. Her cadence was soft: appraising and, at his expression, very nearly amused.

 "You look," Wheatley swallowed, the words stuck in his throat, an effect that only she ever seemed to elicit. 

 'Gorgeous,' He thought, 'beautiful, lovely, elegant,' his mind spewing words that were more careful and precise than his actions had been back when he'd been controlling a nuclear reactor. He was about to blurt any one of them when an angry hiss of a voice snapped them out of existence. 

_  'You can't tell her that. You can't say that to her. Why would you  _ say that _? You're breaking her. You're killing her.  _ Don't you know  _ what you're doing to her?  _ Don't you know _ why you can't say that?'  _

 Wheatley did. 

_  "She's been like a mother to be me." Chell snuggled into his side, hiding behind his arm as a frightened child might cling to a parent. Something in his chest hurt when he saw the just how pained her expression was (when he heard it in her voice), but he knew there was nothing he could to help. He could only listen. "The day I came here- when I collapsed- she’s the one who found me. She was the first human I had seen in years. She and Sam saved me. They've looked after me ever since. And now-” Her voice caught and she hid her face from him. “I can't- I can’t.” She choked, “I'm sorry.”  _

_  “The gels.” He choked, pathetically. “The chambers with the gels were condemned because they-- all the humans that tested with them--” Wheatley saw the shadows under Chell’s eyes, the sickly pale hue of her skin, heard the strain in her breathing, and he could have drowned in the shame. “You were down there. With them. Because I--” He sobbed. “I did this to you! I k--"  _

_  “I don’t want this. And you have to understand this. We are not in love. We are not in a relationship of any kind. You’re so sweet, and I know you’re only trying to help, but I can’t… take any more of this.  _ I can’t.”

_  I’m  _ sorry _. _

 "Tired." 

 Wheatley winced from more than awkwardness as he looked away, one hand flying to the back of his head.

 Something in the back of his mind tugged like a thread trying to work out a knot, and it  _ hurt  _ but suddenly Chell looked so much more familiar as she stood in front of him, and he could almost reach, he could almost see why-

* * *

 

_  She looked so tiny folded in on herself like that, her knees tucked neatly under her chin, her arms holding her legs in place. She wasn't slumped; something about her posture reminded him of a cat: tired, maybe, but proud. She had an air of grace about her despite her size. _

_  Her hair was a dark chocolate, not quite black but the darkest shade of brown he'd ever seen. It stopped a few inches beneath her shoulder blades, and it was twisted in a delicate braid that must've been very hard to arrange without a mirror.  _

_  Wheatley had been warned about her. She was dangerous; she was crazy; she was there for a reason. His job was to look after all the test subjects, but he had been told to ignore this one unless she was needed for testing. _

_  He didn't want to.  _

_  If he was completely honest she did look a bit dangerous, but she also looked like him. Not literally, of course. Young, he meant. Too young to be stuck in this awful place. Young, and frightened, and alone, and trapped. Maybe she could use a friend. He knew he could. _

_  He tensed as she moved, her posture straightening the tiniest bit as her gaze glided up to meet his. The color of her eyes was hard to pin (it was somewhere between stormy skies and sterling silver), but they pinned him immediately. She was beautiful, and though he had spent about 99% of his life talking, in her presence all the words jammed somewhere in his throat. Her gaze interrogated him without words: why was he watching her; what was he doing; what did he want; was he going to hurt her. When she realized he meant her no harm her gaze turned less threatening and more curious.  _

_  He couldn't help but smile, his gaze shifting to the floor as he swallowed. _

_  "Do you always wear your hair like that? It's lovely." _

* * *

 

Chell gave Wheatley a weary smile.

“I know.”

* * *

 

Wheatley stood there terrified, because, no, she really didn’t.

* * *

 

It was a good thing Michael was driving them to the hospital, because if the very one sided conversation taking place at the front of the vehicle continued in the direction it was, then poor Wheatley was going to need one. 

Michael was trying to make nice with Chell. What Wheatley found unfair about this was that Michael was at the front of the car, driving, and so despite the fact that his attempts to placate the woman in the backseat were only fueling her rage, she couldn’t actually take her wrath out on him. Whereas Wheatley, who had done absolutely nothing, save sit next to Chell and offer her his hand when he’d seen the unhappy look on her face, was going to have a broken hand if Michael made Chell much angrier.

Wheatley really wanted to say something, but to her credit, he was fairly certain Chell didn’t realize she was hurting him. Her mind was obviously elsewhere as she watched her house fade from view: her grip on his hand only tightening when Michael said something she really didn’t like. 

He winced, biting back a huff of laughter at the fresh wave of pain. At this point it was becoming amusing. 

Chell was going to be the death of him one of these days. 

A dull pain pulsed in the back of his head. 

It didn’t really matter.

* * *

 

Wheatley willed the events of the evening to blur together. 

There were things that were pleasant enough: bittersweet smiles and tears and laughs (the last of which Wheatley certainly hadn’t expected) as people exchanged stories about their friend (the more Wheatley listened the more stubborn he realized the lady was, and the more he understood the connection between her and Chell); the fact that the hospital wasn't the stark white nightmare Wheatley had feared it to be (but he would go more into that later) and was actually fairly cozy; the reassurance in Chell's presence when she stood beside him, her warmth and weight as they held hands or locked arms; the way anyone nearby would rush to fill the empty space beside him when she was gone, not giving him time to think.

But of course there were things that weren't so nice, too.

He tried not to look at the other side of the room, though with a gentle tug from Chell he found himself gravitating towards it. The place where a casket sat. Where a widower and a dear friend stood in all their grief and extended it to the two of them: Wayne hugging Chell with all his might, as if he could hold her there forever; Sam looking between him and Wheatley, assuring him that they would get through this, hard as it would be.

That was the worst part of the night: when the parallels clicked for everyone in the room. 

He could practically hear their thoughts as his gaze wandered between Chell and the casket behind her. 

_ ‘That's going to be her.’  _

Then to the widower that held her, sobbing.

_ ‘That's going to be you.’  _

* * *

 

“I... need to go talk to someone.” 

 Wheatley gave a weak smile, jokingly rolling his eyes as Chell glanced across the room at Michael. 

_ ‘Uh huh. Someone.’ _

 The events of the night were over, and for all the poor man's attempts the two of them had yet to make nice. It seemed Chell was ready to remedy that.

 Wheatley squeezed her hand.

 “That silent treatment didn’t last very long, did it?”

__ Chell gave him a nudge, the glint in her eyes only half teasing as she tried not to smirk.

 “Why don't you try to find the kids? I'm sure they'd love to see you.”

 Wheatley gave a soft hum as she pulled away, and watched as she made her way to a pleasantly surprised Michael. Auburn and Jake laughed from the landing above as Michael fell on his knees at her feet, taking her hands in his and begging for forgiveness, a smile ever present on his face. Chell shook her head at the sight, but she laughed too, in spite of herself. 

 Wheatley hardly noticed when Michael’s wife joined him in viewing. 

 “They’re quite a pair, aren’t they?” 

 Green eyes winced as he yelped, hands splaying upwards in apologetic surrender.

 “Sorry! Sorry!” She grimaced as Wheatley clutched at his heart. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  “Ruth!” Her expression was so concerned he almost laughed. “No, no, no! You’re fine. I’m just… jumpy.” Wheatley pressed his hands over his heart as if that would steady it. “It’s been a long night.”

 “It has.” 

 She bit her lip, giving him a moment to calm down before continuing.

 “I'm so sorry about Chell.”

 Wheatley winced.

 “I-- Thank you.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he tried for a smile. “But it’s not your fault.”

 “Not yours either, I’ll bet.” Ruth examined the floor. Wheatley suddenly felt nauseous. “Still though. The night we all found out about both of them… Eliza and Chell...That they were both-” She closed her eyes. “It was terrible.” 

 She offered a weak smile as she looked back up at Wheatley. 

 “It's probably better that you didn't find out that way.”

 Wheatley swallowed. 

 “She waited a month to tell me.” 

 Ruth blinked.

 “I'm sorry.” She placed a hand on his shoulder as she tried for a smile. “I'm sure she only waited so long because she didn't want to upset you before she had to.” Wheatley shrugged. Ruth took her hand back and crossed her arms. “If it's any consolation, Chell didn't tell anyone that night. She couldn't. Sam told us.” She peeked back up at him. “So even though you were the last person to find out, you were also the only person she told herself.” To Wheatley’s surprise she smiled as she watched Chell and Michael talk. “I know Chell doesn't like to ask for help, but if you ever need anything you let me know, alright? Michael and I are happy to help.”

 Wheatley’s next words slipped out of their own accord, tinged with amusement and annoyance. 

 “I know.”

 Ruth laughed then groaned, pressing her palms into her eyes.

 “ _ Ugh _ ,” Apologetic as it was, her smile was contagious. “I  _ know.  _ He's over there all the time. I'm sorry about that. I told him you might not like it. He's just- well, he's very protective of Chell.” Green eyes rolled good naturedly. “And that old house of his.” 

 Wheatley froze.

 “Did you--” He choked. “I'm sorry, did you say  _ his  _ house?”

 Ruth scoffed.

 “You didn't know that?” She laughed at Wheatley’s dazed expression despite herself. “Poor Chell really doesn't tell you anything, does she?” She sighed. “Long story short, Michael enjoys fixing things. A few years ago he fell in love with the remains of an old house by the fields. I think when he met Chell he thought he could fix them both up at the same time.” Ruth shook her head. “She lived here and hated it but didn't have anywhere to go, and, as Sam's kid he lived here, and hated it…” A smirk tugged at her lips as she looked up at Wheatley. “As Sam’s kid he also knows a thing or two about medicine. Do you see what I'm getting at?”

 He felt the room spin as the pieces clicked into place. 

 “Oh my God.” 

 Ruth nodded.

 “They were each other's ticket out of here.” She elaborated. “Sam let Michael leave because  _ Chell _ wanted to leave, and he was the only person she could leave  _ with _ .” 

 Wheatley stared across the room at Michael and Chell, bewildered. 

 “I wasn't here when Chell first came to town, but from what I've heard she was pretty bad off. It took a long time before she was fully healed. Even then Sam was afraid if she let her out of her sights… something else would go wrong.” Ruth said. “It was probably for the best that Chell lived here for a few months.” 

 “But she didn't stay here.”

 “Of course not.” Ruth crossed her arms. “She and Michael made a deal. They would move into that old house together to get away from the hospital, and until she was well enough to leave on her own, she would stay there and help him fix it up so he would have a place to live once she was gone.” She gave Wheatley a pointed look. “But she never left.” 

 “Why not?”

 Wheatley turned back around at the sound of Chell’s laughter. She had helped haul Michael to his feet, and in celebration of his newfound forgiveness he gave her a bow before taking her hand and spinning her around. 

 “Guess.”

 Something in Wheatley’s chest turned to ice.

 Ruth didn’t seem to share in his emotional dilemma. 

 “I've tried not to ask him about it too much. I’m not the paranoid wife: I understand his attachment to Chell. From what I gather, it's a lot like her attachment to you.” That got Wheatley’s attention. “Don't get me wrong, Chell's a very smart girl, but when she first got here there were a lot of things she didn't understand. Just like there were a lot of things that you didn't understand.” 

 He went back to staring at the floor. 

 “There are still a lot of things that I don't understand.”

 Ruth hummed. 

 “That's alright, that's what we're here for.” She nodded back to where Michael and Chell were standing. “That what Michael was there for.” Wheatley didn’t understand how she was smiling. “They lived in that house together for a little over a year. Once it was finished they even worked together. The two of them were practically inseparable.”

 “What happened?”

 Ruth smirked, holding up her hand so her ring caught the light.

 “Oh.” 

 When he looked up both Chell and Michael were gone. 

* * *

 

 Chell announced her return by tugging a half asleep Wheatley to his feet and leading him away from the very comfortable seat he’d found by the fire. 

 “Come on.” Chell smirked. 

 Wheatley whined, cold and half asleep.

 “Where are we  _ going _ ?”

 “It's a surprise.”

 “I thought you didn't like surprises.” 

 “I don't like  _ being  _ surprised. I still enjoy surprising others.”

 “Oh,  _ I  _ see.” Wheatley grumbled teasingly. “ _ You're _ too paranoid for a surprise in broad daylight, in your own home, but you have no problem whatsoever with surprising  _ me  _ in the  _ dark _ , in a  _ hospital _ .” 

 “Exactly.”

 He could hear the smirk in her voice.

 “You’re not funny. You know that, right?”

 His breath hitched as Chell opened a door, and he was met with a wave of cold air and a view of a forest covered in snow. 

 “Oh wow,” Chell watched with obvious amusement as Wheatley stepped outside in wide eyed wonder. “It’s really pretty out here. All sparkly and quiet. Peaceful.”

 Chell nodded as she followed him out onto the deck, closing the door behind them. 

 “I used to sneak out here all the time.” 

 Her expression turned melancholy as she watched the snow fall. Wheatley frowned. 

 “Are you okay?”

 She blinked.

 “Are you okay?”

 He tried not to smile.

 “I asked first.” 

 “It’s been a long night.”

 “It has.” 

 Silence.

 “I hated it here.”

 “The hospital?”

 “The town.” Chell almost laughed. “When I first came here I wanted to get as far away as possible. As quickly as possible. That’s why I used to sneak out here. It wasn’t for the view.” 

 “I can understand why you wanted to leave so badly.” Wheatley looked back into the darkness of the woods, though he knew they were on the wrong side of town. “If the others knew what we did--”

 “No.” Chell said. “It wasn’t that.”

 Wheatley frowned.

 “Well then… what was it?”

 “I wanted to see the world.” Chell said, and her voice broke with longing. “The oceans, and the cities, and the mountains. The people, and the food, and the music. I wanted to experience all of it. I wanted to see it.” She crossed her arms as if hugging herself; tried to convince herself that her eyes only stung because of the cold. “The world is so big. I hardly ever left Horizon.”

 “I’ve always hated the idea of traveling.”

 Chell blanched.

 “What?”

 “I mean, yes, of course the world is beautiful, and I can certainly understand wanting to see as much of it as you could, but traveling is just… constantly leaving people behind.” Wheatley gave Chell a pained look. “Sure, you get to see lots of different places, but only briefly before you leave and probably never come back. And if you had started traveling as soon as you were able, you would have traveled alone, right? So you wouldn’t really have a home. Or a family.” Wheatley managed a sad smile. “At least you have those things now.” He said. “Maybe you didn’t get to see as much of the world as you would have liked, but at least you didn’t have to live in it alone.”

 Wheatley felt his face turn red as Chell stared up at him.

 “What?”

 Her voice was quiet. 

 “Nothing.”

 Silence.

 Snow drifted around them.

 “Sam’s going to kill me if she sees me out here without a coat.”

 “You’re not wearing a co-”

 There was a muffled ‘crunch’ as a snowball exploded on Wheatley's shoulder. 

 “ _ Hey!  _ What was that-” 

 Chell laughed at his baffled expression, and the words died in Wheatley's throat at the sound. Snowflakes glittered in her falling hair, several strands of which fell across her eyes: sterling silver and shining with mirth. Wheatley never stood a chance. 

 He gave a lopsided smile as he looked at her, helplessly.

 “This isn’t fair, you know. It’s not as if I can hit you back. I- _ I’m _ a gentleman. I don’t want  _ you  _ to be all cold and wet.” 

 Chell smirked as she took a step closer.

 “Aren’t you sweet?” 

 “I try.” He shivered as he took her hands in his. “ _ Brrr _ ! You’re  _ cold _ , lady!” 

 Chell tried not to laugh. 

 “You’re not much better.”

 He gave her hands a squeeze as blue eyes met grey.

 “And whose fault is that?”

_  She and Wheatley were sitting very close, huddling together for warmth and all, but at some point during that conversation they had moved much, much closer. One of her hands had moved to his face, seemingly of its own accord, and suddenly Wheatley’s breath was just a little too close to hers, just a little too warm. Everything was too warm. Her face was turning hot; she felt flush under all those layers of clothes and blankets. The way her breath caught somewhere in her chest was both pleasant and painful as her pulse beat harder, hopeful and frightened, and she knew she shouldn't but she found leaning forward, closer, and-- _

 "Wheatley," Chell looked down at their hands. "Can I talk to you about something?” 

 “Of course.”

 “...Remember that night when Sam and Michael and Claire all came to the house and tried to... convince me to come stay here?”

 “Yeah?”

 “And Michael and I got into an argument because I wouldn’t listen?” 

 Dread crept up his spine.

 Chell took a deep breath.

 “I've changed my mind." She said, looking up at him. "I want to stay here."

 Wheatley started to pull away but thought better of it. 

 “What?”

 “It’s… complicated.” Chell smiled sadly. “I love that old house, and I've loved living there with you, but I- I can't anymore.” She looked down at her feet. “We’re getting to the point where we’re just worrying over each other constantly. I don't want to have to worry about you, and I don't want you to worry about me. I need to stay here now. It’ll be better for both of us.” She brushed her thumbs against the back of his hands. “Claire and Michael are going back to the house later to pick up my things. You can go with them and get yours.”

 Wheatley hoped he didn't sound as hurt as he felt. 

 “You’re not coming?”

 “I can’t.” Chell's voice broke. “I don’t think I can stand to say another goodbye today.”

 “I’m sorry.” She added, squeezing his hands. “I know you don’t want to do this, and I didn’t talk to you about it--”

 Wheatley shook his head.

 “No, no, no. Don't worry about that. It’s not that. It’s just--” He swallowed, his vision blurring. “Everything’s going to be different.” 

 He squeezed her hands a bit too tightly. She returned the gesture. 

 “I know.” Chell rested her head against his chest, her arms wrapping around his back. “It’ll be okay.”

 He shuddered. She coughed.

* * *

 

 Michael paused at the sound of panicked footsteps behind him. Wheatley rounded the corner, looking cold and thoroughly frazzled. 

 "Wait." He croaked. "I need to talk to you."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! ^^


	31. Kind

 Though Wheatley was loath to admit it, the hospital was a very nice place, and the people of Horizon made it much better. 

 Still, it couldn’t have been more different than he’d thought it would be. 

 Decades down There combined with months of daytime television had lead Wheatley to believe that hospitals were cold, blindingly bright buildings covered in white tiles and filled with miserable people who wanted nothing more than to escape. 

 Wheatley also fully expected their first day in the hospital to be miserable. He had seen the facility's infirmary back when it had still been operational, and what he had gathered there entailed that a hospital was a place you were dragged away to be poked, prodded, and filled with nasty medication: Nothing Chell would enjoy or tolerate.

 Wheatley was wrong on both accounts.

 The hospital was clean, yes, but it was also old. Not old as in outdated- old as in it looked like it was built in the wrong time period. There were no white tiles or blinding overhead lights to be found; there were creaky old floorboards and antique light fixtures that gave off cozy glows. The walls were adorned with floral prints or pastel paints, not panels. There were no elevators, either. The hospital was only two stories, the uppermost of which served as the residence of the people who lived there, and was accessible by a large wooden staircase in the front room. All the patient rooms were downstairs, along with a kitchen and den area, none of which felt cold or frightening because they were frequented by people who cared about both Chell and himself.

 That was why on their first day in the hospital, Wheatley woke to the sound of laughter. 

 He had been placed in the room directly across from Chell’s (he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that), so it didn’t take long before he was in front of her door, requesting entrance as he listened to the commotion inside. When the door finally opened he was surprised to find that the room was full: Chell sitting in bed while Michael and Jake sat on the floor, all of them staring up at the small television that sat on the dresser across from the bed.

 “Stubborn here was up at nine o'clock this morning.” Michael explained. A crashing sound came from the television, and he glanced at Chell. 

“Cmon, you can do better than that.” She scoffed. On screen there was another crash, this one much louder. 

Michael smirked, “That's more like it!” 

 Wheatley looked to Jake for guidance. 

 “We used to play this game all the time when we- when Chell lived here.” He smiled, offering up his controller. “Wanna play?”

 Wheatley looked down at him blankly.

 “Is there another…?”

 “Controller? No, but you can take mine.” He grimaced at the television. “I'm losing. Badly.” 

 “Uh… I think I'll just watch, thanks.” 

 There was a fierce competition going between Michael and Chell, and a rather violent one for a go-kart game. Every race was a frantic frenzy of flying shells and banana peels (Wheatley really didn't understand this game), where each player (save for Jake) possessed deadly aim and showed no remorse for knocking their opponent clean off the road. Jake was rather unfortunate to get caught in the crossfire of the game, because Michael and Chell were merciless. Whatever they threw onto the road that didn't hit their intended target usually hit him.

 Meanwhile, Wheatley sat beside Chell and tried to piece things together. 

 He noted with almost dubious relief that Chell was happy. She was smiling and laughing as she played the little racing game. She wasn't alone in her room, brooding, giving the world the silent treatment as he half expected her to be; she was surrounded by people who cared about her, and she was genuinely enjoying their company. Better yet she didn't seem to be in pain (her coughing wasn't as bad that day), and the empty plate on the nightstand indicated that she'd already eaten breakfast.

 Finding nothing to worry about, Wheatley turned his attention back to the game. 

 “So… Jake is the little turtle?”

 “Yup.”

 “And Michael is the guy in the red hat?”

 “Uh huh.”

 “And Chell is the little green…”

 “Dinosaur.”

 Wheatley blinked. 

 “I really don’t understand this game.”

 Despite the fact that the match ups continued all day, he never really did. 

 But he enjoyed the highlights.

 Chell and Michael tickling Jake until he couldn't breathe for sneaking past them; Sam and Claire ganging up on Michael when Chell took a break; Listening to Auburn and Jake flirt as they teasingly sabotaged each other. 

 Sitting there with Chell all day. Seeing her smile and hearing her laugh.

 The game was constantly interrupted as people shuffled in and out, chatting with or fussing over Chell. The players switched continually, but the console was never abandoned. 

 And neither was Chell.

* * *

 

 Not only was the hospital not cold and drab as Wheatley had expected, it was fairly homey. All the rooms contained medical supplies, yes (it was still a hospital), but they were tucked away in dressers and nightstands until they were needed. The furniture also provided storage for one’s personal items, and a home for the various knick-knacks that each room was decorated with.

 While poking around at these one lazy afternoon, Wheatley discovered something interesting about the small porcelain box that sat atop Chell’s dresser. It was ordinary enough at first glance-- and pretty, too. It's lid adorned with painted roses-- but at the back of the box a kind of metal knob stuck out of the glass. 

 Curious, he brought it to Chell.

 “Do you know what this is?” 

 Chell, who was sitting in bed, put her book down, marking her page before carefully taking the box from his outstretched hands. She smiled as she turned it over, almost as if she were remembering something, and took a moment to examine it before cranking the little knob. 

 Wheatley watched in fascination as she did this, then in amazement as she opened the lid. The silence of the room was broken as soft, shiny music spilled from the box. The tune was gentle and quiet, reminding Wheatley of something from the old animated films the children often watched. 

 Though Chell's rendition was much better as she began to hum along, her delicate voice joining the melody.

 Wheatley listened in a blissful trance, smiling at her helplessly until the music stalled, and the lid was closed.

* * *

 

 Chell had picked up a strange new habit since moving to the hospital. 

 Her hands were constantly in her hair. More often than not she left it down (no more ponytails), and whenever she was stressed or nervous, she would subconsciously twist it into complicated braids which, once completed, were raked out and recreated.  

 Wheatley wondered why Chell was doing this (or where she had learned to do this), but because he wasn’t entirely sure Chell was  _ aware _ she was doing this, and at times it seemed to make her feel better, he left it alone.

 ...He wasn’t of much use to her anymore.

 In a way, he knew he should have been relieved. That that nagging little voice of worry, the one constantly reminding each of them throughout this downward spiral that they had to take care of the other, that they were counting on each other no matter what, was finally gone. It wasn’t like that anymore. It was no longer Chell’s job to worry about Wheatley, and it was no longer Wheatley’s job to try and take care of Chell. In a way it was nice knowing that the weight of the world no longer rested on their shoulders, but at the same time it felt as though a distance was growing between them. Chell missed seeing Wheatley constantly grow and learn, and Wheatley missed being able to make Chell smile and laugh and feel better. Even though he knew it shouldn't, his entire world revolved around her. If he was of no use to Chell, then what was he good for?

 “What's wrong?”

 At the sound of Chell’s voice, he jolted back to reality. 

 They were in her room, her sitting in bed while he sat in a chair next to her. They had talked for awhile, but then Chell became distant (hands in her hair again), and in the silence he had gotten lost in thought. 

 “What?”

 “You’re staring at me.” Chell said, trying not to smile. “Everything alright?”

 Wheatley scuffed at the floor. 

 “I guess.”

 She frowned. 

 “You guess?”

 Wheatley looked away.

 “I’m… not useful anymore.”

 Chell blanched. 

 “What?”

 “I’m not!” He gave a dull laugh. “I was only ever good at helping you with things-- well, I wasn’t even all that great at that, but at least it was something. But now--” He smiled bitterly. “You don’t need me anymore. No one does.”

 Wheatley hadn't seen the determined glint in Chell's eyes in a good long while, but at his words it came back in full force, along with a healthy dose of concern.

 “That’s not true.”

 “It is true.” He said, shoulders drooping; and then, almost hopefully. “Name one thing I can help you with.”

 There was a sound of shuffling as she turned her attention to something in the nightstand, and Wheatley flinched as Chell tossed a brush into his lap. 

 “What?” He asked. Then, when she made no move to answer: “Your hair? You don’t need me to--”

 “Please?”

 Her eyes-- her voice-- were tired and sad and sweet-- and he couldn’t say no.

 Like in most things, Wheatley was sweet and awkward. He sat on the bed behind her, humming nervously as he gathered her hair in his hands, being overly cautious in his attempts to rake the brush through her hair without causing her pain. His touch was gentle beyond need, endearing and comforting. Chell smiled softly, though he didn’t see it. She found it funny-- or at least ironic-- that despite his awkward mannerisms and lanky size, he could be so careful and gentle when he really wanted to. When he focused. She said nothing as he did this, but allowed her thoughts to wander.

 The two of them were growing distant-- had been growing distant since they arrived here-- and though she knew it was for the best, she was selfish, and she hated it. She hated that he thought she didn’t need him, and she hated that she did need him.

 “‘Don’t know why you wear your hair up all the time.” Wheatley mumbled, fondly threading a hand through Chell’s hair. He realized very slowly and all too late that he should not have done or said that. Chell’s eyes were silver glass, curious and light and the tiniest bit suspicious as she turned to face him. Wheatley swallowed, only slightly removing his hand from her hair. “I mean--” He fumbled, “It looks nice-- very pretty-- no matter how you wear it, but-- I think-- it looks just as nice like this.”

 Wheatley waited for her response-- her rage or her cold shoulder (why was he being so selfish, she couldn’t have been anymore clear in saying she didn’t want this)-- but for whatever reason Chell smiled (she  _ smirked _ , he hadn’t seen her smirk in ages), easing his hand from her hair and entwining it with one of her own.

 She wasn’t sure who was more thankful.

* * *

 

 Chell winced as the door creaked open, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden light.  _ Enough _ of this. She just wanted to  _ sleep _ \- couldn't they just let her sleep? 

 “ _ Please _ no.” Chell allowed herself to sound pitiful, because maybe if she sounded bad enough they would leave her alone and let her sleep. But of course this strategy backfired: as her eyes adjusted to the light she realized that the person in the doorway wasn’t who she’d thought. 

 “Wheatley.”

 He sat down beside her, obviously trying to keep his composure as he gave a wobbly smile.

 “I have another surprise for you.” 

 She coughed.

 “I don't-”

 “I know, I know,” He smiled weakly. “You don't like surprises.”

 She gave the container in his hands a weary look. 

 “I'm not hungry.” 

 “Chell,” The low tone of his voice made her close her eyes. Eliza used to use that tone with her. “You have to eat.”

 “I'm not hungry.” She repeated.

 Wheatley popped the lid off the container, and nudged it in her direction.

 “Not even for dessert?” 

 “You-” Chell stuttered as she looked inside. “Where did you? How did you?” Grey eyes looked up at him, baffled. A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Ice cream?”

 Wheatley smiled.

 “Let’s just say I’m eternally indebted to Charlotte. And the kids, whose arms are about to fall off.” He flailed his arms experimentally. “Mine too, though.”

 Chell was too tired to laugh, though she looked up at him endearingly.

 “You made me ice cream. In winter.”

 “Technically I  _ helped _ make you ice cream in winter.” Wheatley said, feeling his face turn warm. “It was my idea, though.” He nudged her gently as she smiled up at him. “Ice cream in winter sounds a bit like a Wheatley idea, doesn’t it?”

 She smirked weakly.

 “It sounds good to me.”

 “Well you see, that’s the thing about Wheatley ideas,” He gave a smile that was half wince. “They do sound good, at first, but then the other shoe drops.”

 Chell crossed her arms and tried not to look as tired as she felt. 

 “And what would that be?”

 Wheatley squirmed. 

 “Even though I’ll be faced with an angry Chell and a room full of angry teenagers for doing this-- and frankly, I don’t know which is more frightening-- I’m going to say… you can’t have this until you eat something… real.” He offered an apologetic smile as he replaced the lid on the container. “But since I already owe Charlotte my now very mortal soul, that can be anything you want.” 

 He looked down at her hopefully, offering his hand. 

 “Deal?” 

 Chell squeezed his hand.

 “Deal.” 

* * *

 

 As per usual Wheatley spent the afternoon chatting with (or rather to) Chell. It was dreary outside, but Chell’s room was cozy, and she smiled absently to herself as Wheatley rambled beside her. 

 “You’re not gonna believe what happened to me this morning.” He gave a bright goofy smile, the kind that usually meant he had gotten into trouble minor enough to laugh about. “I was just minding my own business, trying to make myself a bowl of cereal in that creepy, deadly silent kitchen down the hall, and then out of nowhere Auburn and Jake popped up from behind the counter and scared the living daylight out of me!” Chell tried to hide her smile as Wheatley gestured wildly. “Charlotte is going to kill me when she sees the kitchen! I mean, believe me, I did try to clean up the mess, but cornflakes flew everywhere! Under the fridge, in the cracks between the counter and the stove-- she’s going to be livid! And--” 

 “Stop.” 

 Chell squeezed Wheatley’s hand, her expression freezing over with something he didn't recognize.

 “What?” He asked, stomach twisting with fear. “What’s-”

 “Listen.” Chell stopped him yet again, mouth melting into a smile as she pointed at the ceiling. “It’s raining.”

 And then they were up.

 “Um,” Wheatley started as Chell tugged him down the hall, “I don't mean to-- wow-- hang on a second-- isn't the expression-- isn't it ‘rain on your parade’? That's pretty ironic, as it were. But, well, I don't mean to rain on your parade or anything, but I fail to see the significance of--” 

 Here Wheatley was cut off once again, not by Chell’s words, but by the wonderful light that only came to her eyes when she spoke of the surface-- of freedom. 

 “It’s the first rain of the season.” 

 “Right! Rain! Seasons!” Wheatley cheered, looking down at her in mild amusement (and confusion) as she tugged him towards the doors that led outside. “And we are…?”

 Chell gave a sneaky little smirk as she peered down the hall.

 “ _ We’re _ going to go outside and watch.”

 “Is that so?”

 The pair skidded to a halt at the third voice, and Wheatley swore Chell shrank an inch as she turned to face Sam. She smiled timidly at the older woman, not unlike a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

_  “Please?”  _

 “Michelle,” Sam gave an endearing smile. “You know I can’t let you go outside in the rain.” 

 “I don’t have to be  _ in _ the rain, I just want to  _ see _ the rain.”

 Sam crossed her arms.

 “You can see the rain from the window in your room.” 

 “That’s not the  _ same _ .” Chell drooped.

 “Maybe not. But if you go outside you’re going to get cold and wet, and I’d much rather you be bored than coughing your head off all night.” 

 Wheatley cleared his throat, his face growing warm as all eyes turned on him. “...I think those are all excellent points.” He smiled uncertainly as he looked down at Chell. “What about a compromise?”   
  
  


 Once again Chell found herself sitting on a bench in the cold, Wheatley beside her and both of them covered in blankets. 

 The circumstance made her feel giddily uneasy when she remembered what had happened the last time they’d done this, but this was much different. The bench was the same, the blankets were the same, the warmth was the same, he was the same, but she was not-- their circumstances were not. They weren’t sheltering from the cold of winter on the front porch of her home, weren’t watching the snow fall. They were watching the rain from the porch of the hospital.

 It was pouring now, big fat raindrops drumming on the earth, creating a surprisingly soothing sound. The air was cool, but the two of them were safe, and dry, and warm, and after awhile Chell allowed her head to lull to Wheatley's shoulder as she closed her eyes and listened to the rain.

 “Thank you.”

* * *

 

 It wasn’t until the morning when Wheatley heard the birds return that he realized how much he had missed them. 

 Spring had arrived. 

 Chell beamed up at him for the next few days, sick as she was, encouraging him to go outside and explore. This was the last season he hadn’t seen, and she wanted to know what he thought of it. Wheatley didn’t want to leave Chell, but she wouldn’t hear of it, saying that he already spent too much time cooped up indoors and that he deserved to go outside and enjoy himself. 

 Eventually Auburn and Jake managed to coax him from Chell’s side, Jeffery and the twins following close behind as they lead him outside. 

 New as he was to all of this, seasons didn’t change overnight and Wheatley knew as much. However, in the weeks since Chell had been admitted to the hospital, he hadn’t been outside much, and significant changes had taken place since then. 

 It was warm. The snow and dark clouds were gone, replaced with sunlight and soft blue skies. Wheatley later decided that spring was the most indecisive season, because one minute it could sunny and clear, and the next it could be pouring down rain.

 Wheatley still wasn’t a huge fan of water, but he had to admit that he enjoyed rainy days, as they meant watching the children chase and splash each other until they were soaked, listening to them laugh without a care in the world. 

 The children dragged him outside almost every day, away from Chell and (usually) into some kind of trouble. 

 The entirety of the surface seemed to bloom and grow as the season progressed. From the grass to the brave little stems poking out of the ground, everything was a bright, healthy green. Then, one day, as if someone had flipped a switch, the world was covered in flowers: beautiful, delicate blooms in every shade. 

 Even the critters that inhabited the surface were new: all fluffy and small. Tiny rabbits hopped about clumsily; fawns walked beside their mothers on wobbling legs; baby birds chirped from their nests, nestled in down. 

 Wheatley had never seen so much life before; so much newness, and color, and growth. The more time he spent outside-- the further spring progressed-- the more he admired the surface.

 And as all this new life began to grow, Chell’s began to fade.

* * *

 

 Morning had always been Wheatley’s least favorite time of the day, but living in a hospital made it ten times worse. Chell was different every day. Her mood, her health, everything was different every day-- every morning-- and so he didn’t know what was happening or what was going to happen that day until he opened the door to his room.

 But this morning he could hear from inside. Could hear her coughing nonstop; could hear her broken voice yelling between coughs; could hear Sam’s voice which was absent of anger but matched her’s in volume. 

 Wheatley was out the door in two seconds flat, and Michael was in the hallway, waiting. 

 He shot up from the folding chair he’d been sitting in, blocking the door to Chell’s room as amiably as possible.

 “Wheatley--”

 “Is she okay? Is she--”

 “She's fine. She'll be fine.” Michael said calmly. “Sam’s in there with her. Everything's under control.” Much to his relief, things on the other side of the door began to calm down. Michael tried for a sympathetic smile as he continued. “But Chell doesn't want any visitors today. Sam doesn't want her to have any visitors either.” 

 Suddenly, Wheatley looked very pale, and Michael looked much farther away than he should've been.

 Green eyes turned concerned as he frowned. 

 “Are you okay?” 

 If Wheatley could've spoken he probably would've said that was a great question, but at present his hearing was doing something strange-- ringing and echoing at the same time, the sound all blurring together. His vision wasn't too much better; everything turning fuzzy at the edges before going completely black.

 This had happened before.

 It was a different time and a different place, and with different people, but all of this had happened before.

 Chell was there. She was sick or hurt-- badly-- something was wrong and it was his fault and he only wanted to help, he needed to see her, to be with her, but--

_ There was someone else there. A man twice Wheatley’s size, and stronger than he could ever hope to be, was blocking the door to Chell’s room. _

_  “You can't go in there.” That was all he ever said in that cold, hateful voice. “No visitors.” _

_  Wheatley could see Chell through the glass, see her lying there, motionless and alone, but each time he tried to get closer he was pushed away. _

_  “You can't go in there.” _

_  Something inside of him broke. _

_  “N-No, no, you don’t understand.” He was trembling, and so was his voice. “I’m her- I’m- I need to go in there. I need to see her. It’s all m-my fault, and she’s all a-alone, and she’s in p-pain, and I can’t just leave her here all alone, I have to see her, you have to let me see her- p-please.” And though Wheatley couldn’t seem to stop trembling, his fear turned to something else as he met the man's eyes, and stood a little straighter. “I’ll do anything.” _ __   
  


 Wheatley shot up with a gasp, scaring Michael half to death.

 “Don't tell Chell!” 

_  “What?” _

 “Please, please don't tell her about this! Please-- I'm not worth it, really, she has enough to worry about as it is. Please don't tell her. You can't tell her!”

 Wheatley was all but hyperventilating as Michael crouched down beside him. It wasn’t until then that he realized he was back in his room, and that didn’t make him feel any better.  

 “Calm down.” Michael tried to sound reassuring. “Breathe.”

 Wheatley whimpered, his own health the last thing on his mind.

 “Can't I just go sit with her?”

 Michael almost laughed, despite himself.

 “Right now you need to tell me what the heck just happened.”

 Wheatley ran a shaking hand through his hair.

 “I f-fell. I just-- I tripped. I'm clumsy. Remember?” 

_  “Wheatley.” _

 “I don't-- I keep having these-- memories.” Wheatley choked, curling into a ball. “And they  _ hurt _ , and they don't make any sense. Because-- the thing about memories, is that you're actually supposed to  _ remember _ them! They're supposed to have actually  _ happened! _ And none of these--” He sobbed. “I was only trying to help her! And look at what I did!”

 “Okay.” It seemed Michael had heard enough, because instead of pressing for more he gave Wheatley an awkward pat on the back. “It's alright. You're okay.” 

 Wheatley shrank away, trembling.

_  “No I'm not!”  _

 “Wheatley, look at me. You have to calm down.” 

 Both of them took a deep breath, and Michael continued, calmly.

 “Chell doesn't have to know about anything you don't want her to. Don't worry about that.” He paused for a moment. “And believe it or not, I think what's happening to you is normal.”

 Wheatley sniffed.

 “It is?”

 “I don't think there's anything wrong with you. I think you're stressed, and tired, and emotionally drained. Your brain is going into overdrive. You might be having anxiety attacks.” 

 “What do I do?”

 “First off, let's have Sam look you over just to be on the safe side.” Wheatley felt himself turn green (What if something was wrong with him, too? Would he tell Chell? Could he keep something like that from her?), and Michael tried not to notice. “You need to rest for a few days. Take it easy. Try to relax.” 

 Wheatley uncurled a bit, looking worriedly across the hall.

 “But what about--”

 “Don't even say it.” Michael warned. “We'll look after her. And besides, she doesn't want any visitors right now anyways.” He gave a thin smile. 

 “She doesn't need to know.” 

* * *

 

 Eventually the weather turned warm again, and everyone was well enough to go outside. 

 Chell and Wheatley wandered about the yard, walking and talking and admiring the wildflowers that grew at the edge of the woods. Chell hadn't been outside in weeks, and so she was thrilled: taking in the sunlight and the sights of spring with childlike enthusiasm which Wheatley matched. He hadn't seen her this happy in a long time. His concept of time was fuzzy, but nearly a year had passed since their first adventures in the outside world, and he missed getting into trouble with her. 

 So now he showed Chell everything he could. The creek just beyond the yard; a nest of baby birds; the colorful winged insects that liked to flutter between the flowers. Wheatley showed her everything he'd seen without her-- everything that made him think of her-- and listened to her explain and marvel at the beauty of the surface with complete adoration. It was perfect-- just like old times. 

 But Chell was unsteady on her feet, and Sam was watching them like a hawk. Soon enough they returned to the porch to sit and read.

 And that was okay, too.

 Until one of the twins came running up the street, screaming.

_  “Chell!” _

 She was up in an instant, and would’ve been half way across the yard had Sam not caught her by the arm. 

 “Chell, help me!” Daniel looked terrified as he bolted towards them. “It got Danni! It’s gonna  _ kill _ me!” 

 By this point both Chell and Wheatley were white as sheets, and looked to Sam (who still wouldn't release Chell) as if she’d grown a second head. Chell tugged at her arm furiously, but she wouldn't--

_  “Let go!” _

 Sam only shook her head, a knowing look in her eyes as she pointed towards the road.

 That was when the barking started.

 Several seconds later a very small fur ball came bounding behind Daniel, and quickly overtook him. He gave an exaggerated scream as he toppled to the ground, and the tiny creature yipped and growled and licked his face.

 Wheatley looked to Chell for guidance as Daniel rolled on the ground, shrieking.

_  “It’s got me!” _

 Wheatley thought nervously, that  _ it _ (whatever it was) wasn’t the only thing that was going to get him, because (once she remembered how to breathe) Chell looked  _ mad _ . 

 Sam released her, smirking. Wheatley followed from a safe distance as she slowly stepped down from the porch, and marched across the lawn with fire in her eyes. 

 Daniel didn't even see her coming. 

 “Help!” He yelled, and Chell chose that moment to grab him by the arm and hoist him into the air. 

 He smiled sheepishly as he met Chell’s glare. 

 “Thanks.” 

 She dropped him.

 Wheatley wasn’t sure whether to laugh or look mortified as Daniel fell for real. He, however, chose mortified very quickly as an angry Chell loomed over him menacingly. 

 “ _ Don’t _ scare me like that.”

 “Sorry! I’m sorry!” He held up his hands in surrender from his place on the ground. “I just thought you’d want to meet the newest member of the family.” 

 It was then that all eyes turned to Daniel’s furry companion, which seemed to have taken an interest in Chell.

 The little creature was hopping about at her feet, scratching at her pant legs while making noises that Wheatley recognized as heartbreaking (even though he still didn't know what it was). A hesitant smile crept across Chell’s face as she looked down at the fur ball, and she glanced to Wheatley before dropping to the ground.

 He frowned.

 “Uh, Chell?”

 Now the animal seemed to be doing much the same as it had done with Daniel: sniffing and walking all over her, emitting a range of excited noises as it nuzzled her face. Chell seemed to be enjoying herself, too, whatever was happening. She was smiling-- a big, open grin-- and laughing, one of her hands tangling softly in the creatures fur. 

 For whatever reason this reminded him of his first encounter with the town’s children: her on the ground, laughing and very much in the know while he was left in the dark, unsure of whether to be amused or alarmed. 

 He chose the latter, flailing as the thing began to lick her face. 

 “Oh God! It is hurting you? Is it trying to eat you? Why are you laughing?”

 Chell finally managed to pry the creature back, still smiling as it squirmed in her arms.

 “It's a puppy, Wheatley.” 

* * *

 

 Living in a hospital meant that Chell was constantly being threatened in the most loving way possible. The most common of these threats was one that Wheatley had heard for weeks on end now: that if Chell didn’t eat and drink, Sam would have to put an IV in her arm to help do the job for her. It was a subject that made everyone in the room uneasy, and usually made Chell bitterly angry, but for the most part it also did the trick in getting her to eat, which meant it didn't have to be fulfilled. 

 Until it did.

 Wheatley realized several days into their hospital stay that Chell wasn't just being difficult, she really didn't have much of an appetite anymore. Everyone in the building tried everything from bribery to the aforementioned threats to convince her to eat, but these things only worked for so long. And so one day Wheatley returned from his adventures with the kids to find a silent Chell with a tube in the back of her hand. 

 She sat in the dark, her arms crossed with her now injured hand tucked beneath the blankets. Wheatley wasn’t sure if this was because she didn’t want him to see the IV or because  _ she _ didn’t want to see it. Either way it was pointless: the tube could be seen trailing from her hand up to the IV pole that sat beside her bed. 

 His stomach twisted at the sight: her expression was hard and cold and obviously upset. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure she wanted his help.   

 He bit his lip as he rapped lightly on the door.

 “Can I come in?”

 Chell continued glaring at the blankets, giving no indication that she’d heard him.

 “Um… you're doing the whole…. not speaking thing again, aren't you?” Silence. Wheatley shuffled awkwardly in the doorway. “That's alright. Understandable, really. You're obviously not too happy about the uh, the situation, as it were. But, um, you didn't say no, didn't tell me not to come in, and so, unless you'd like to add that, uh, now,” He paused, glancing up at her nervously. “...And you can do that in any way you’d like. Shake of the head. Thumbs down. Hurling the nearest object.” He winced, waiting, but nothing came hurtling towards him. He smiled weakly. “... I'm gonna go ahead and come inside.” 

 Chell glared at the quilt as Wheatley stepped inside, and glanced to her for permission she didn’t give before switching on the lights.

 “Let there be light.” He tried for a smile that he didn’t quite reach.

 Chell still wouldn't look at him.

 He approached her cautiously, uneasy and uncertain of what to do. He knew that she was either very angry or very sad, and one wrong move could lead to a fight or a breakdown.

 Wheatley didn't think they could stand either one of those. 

 “Is it okay if I sit?” 

 She gave a microscopic shrug that he took as a yes. 

 “Can you look at me?” Chell slowly turned to face him, and her eyes were frozen fire: bitterly baleful as they met his. “Great.” His mouth twitched into what might've been a smile. “Now can you look at me like you don't want to kill me?” 

 No. The answer was no.

 “I know, I know. I'm not funny.” Wheatley bit the inside of his mouth as he looked down at her hand. “Can I see your-” He reached for her injured hand, slowly, but she saw what he was doing and yanked it away-- _ “No, no, no, don't--”  _ out of its new radius. 

 Wheatley hissed in pain for her, berating himself as Chell screwed her eyes shut, pain lancing through her hand as she covered it, holding it as far away from him as possible.

 “Oh, I'm so sorry, love!” He wanted to reach for her again ( _ he just wanted to help _ ), but backed away, giving her space as he thought better of it. 

 Chell stayed frozen, and Wheatley couldn't help but remember the last time she'd been frozen like this. 

_ “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” _

 “It's okay. You're okay.” Wheatley hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder, allowing his fingers to gently trace the fabric of her top. His voice was soft and low. “Do you remember what you told me the morning I found out… you were sick?” Chell squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “You told me I needed to trust you. That everything would be okay as long as I trusted you.” Wheatley gave a wobbly smile that she couldn't see. “Well I do trust you. Always have, really.” His gaze shifted to the quilt. “And I know I don’t deserve it-- don’t really have the best track record with trust, if I’m honest-- but I need you to trust me, too.” Heat built in his throat, and he removed his hand from Chell’s shoulder. “That feels unfair to even ask, though.” He said quietly. “I mean, you did say you forgive me, but  _ I _ don't. I will always feel guilty. I will always be sorry. For what I did to you. And I really don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't think I ever will.” He made a pained noise as he raked a hand through his hair. “Which is why this is so hard to explain. Because, even though I did those terrible things then, I would  _ never _ do them now. I don't know much about anything, but that's the one thing I know for certain.” He meant his next words so much that it hurt. “I would never hurt you. Not now. Not for anything in the world.” Wheatley wished she would look at him. “I know it's not fair of me to say it, and that it's probably, actually, a pretty lousy thing for me to say, all things considered, but you're my-- my favorite person on the face of the earth, and I need you to believe me. I need you to let me help.” He sounded almost as desperate as he felt.  _ “Please.”  _

 When Wheatley finally looked back up at her Chell’s eyes were open, watching him through tears. He smiled pathetically through his, reaching a hand out towards hers. 

 “Can I see?” 

 Her expression was hard and unreadable, and Wheatley half expected her to tell him to get out. 

 She surrendered her hand instead.

 His smile turned goofy then-- relieved-- and he gave her hand a little kiss (very carefully) before wrapping her in a hug. 

 “You're still perfect, love.”   
  


 He held her as she cried.

 “It’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.”

* * *

 

 On the night of Elizabeth’s funeral Wheatley tried to grab what was most important from Chell’s home. Claire gathered her necessities (and Wheatley packed his), but Wheatley tried to figure out what she would  _ want _ . What might distract Chell or make her feel better?

 Chell being as immaterial as she was, he could only really think of the obvious. 

 Her favorite quilt might be a comfort, and at that time of year it was impossible to have too many blankets on the bed. Elastic bands for her hair were a must. Her comfy rainy day sweatshirt couldn't hurt. She'd probably like to rewatch some of those black and white films she loved so much.

 Chell greatly appreciated all of these, but her favorite things from home were the books Wheatley had thought to grab. He couldn't bring all of them (though he could always go back to the house and get more), but he'd brought her an entire box, the contents of which were spread out at her feet nearly every afternoon. She and Wheatley still read together, though their arrangement was a little bit different.

 For one thing, the books they read were much happier. Though Wheatley had still brought it, just the sight of the poetry book was enough to bring back sour memories for both of them. Now they'd moved on to more lighthearted adventures:  _ The Hobbit _ being their current favorite.

 Another difference was that Wheatley almost always read aloud to Chell. Nowadays she preferred to keep her voice to herself, and (if she was perfectly honest with herself) she enjoyed his commentary on the stories they read as much as the books themselves.

 And she wasn’t the only one.

 Lazy afternoons spent with the two of them curled up under the blankets of her bed, side by side as she listened to the lull of his voice, were pure bliss, but the afternoons where the children snuck into her room, when they watched from the doorway a little too obviously, or snuck inside and joined them-- sat at their feet, completely enraptured-- those were perfect.

* * *

 

 Sam insisted that, at this point, sleep was the best thing for Chell. But with what was now persistent pain and coughing, it was becoming harder and harder for Chell to get any rest.

 She was offered pain medication, something to help her sleep, but because it made her groggy and distant she hated the stuff. She didn't want it, and they couldn't force it upon her. 

 Sam and Claire had (as politely as possible) informed Wheatley that they'd rather he stay in his own room at night so that Chell could rest, and usually he was all too happy to comply, but at the moment he couldn’t leave, because she had fallen asleep next to him. 

 It had been the first time in several days in which Chell wanted to spend time with him. Wheatley hadn't had to ask if he could come in or sit down, he had been invited to do so. Chell had asked him if he'd like to watch a movie with her, and he'd happily obliged, feeding the tape she'd selected into the VHS player and settling beside her on the bed.

 Then Chell did something she'd only done once before: wrapped his arm around her waist and snuggled up next to him. 

 Wheatley couldn't focus on the film very well after that. 

 He was hyper aware of Chell’s every movement: every time she coughed (which, he noted with guilt, was too often), or shifted, or leaned a little further into his side. All he could think about was her, from the smell of her hair to the soft feel of her breath, and it took restraint not to look at her whenever she moved. 

 When he finally did she was asleep: her head lulling gently against his shoulder as she dozed. Then Wheatley was stuck there in the best (and worst) way possible, smiling at her helplessly, hoping she was comfortable, and wondering how many more nights like this they had left. 

 The movie droned on in all its charm, but Wheatley rested his head atop Chell's and began to drift off. 

  
_  “Goodnight, my someone, _

_  Goodnight, my love, _

_  Sleep tight, my someone, _

_  Sleep tight, my love, _

_  Our star is shining its brightest light, _

_  For goodnight, my love, for goodnight…” _

* * *

 Chell wouldn't eat.

 Wheatley was informed of this by a very placating Claire: that morning Sam and Michael tried to convince Chell to eat breakfast to no avail-- Charlotte told her she could have anything she wanted and still she refused. This time they couldn't bribe her with ice cream, because this time she wouldn't eat the ice cream by itself.

 Of course, that didn’t stop Wheatley from trying. 

 The scene was the same as before: Chell trying to sleep and Wheatley interrupting her, the light from the hall shining right in her face as he opened the door. The difference was that this time Chell knew what was happening-- knew better than to whine or talk. She glared at the ceiling before sitting up, coughing, and wincing in pain as she did so.

 “Hey,” Wheatley looked small as he stood there in the doorway. “I brought you something.”

 Chell wanted to glare a hole in his head when she realized he was holding a container of food, but paused as he came closer, her heart twisting when she saw what the container held. 

 “Say apple.” Wheatley smiled weakly as he sat down beside her. She looked away. 

 “I know you don't want to eat.” He said quietly. “You're not hungry, and you just want to sleep… I can't say that I blame you.” Wheatley swallowed, a stubborn kind of light coming to his eyes as he met hers. “But the only way you're going to get any peace and quiet is if you eat something.” He crossed his arms as Chell gave him a challenging look. His cadence softened as he nudged her, gently. “And you know what they say about an apple a day keeping the doctor away? This might get two or three of them off your tail.”

 The light in her eyes flared bitter melancholy as she took the container from his hands, and she thought with pain how their roles had reversed. 

 Apple sauce. 

 Chell ate it reluctantly, noting with a pang that Wheatley actually drooped with relief as she did so. It wasn't all bad. It was cold and sweet and filled her with nostalgia. Wheatley was smiling again. 

 But Chell knew it would only do her so much good.

 That was the only thing she ate all day.

* * *

 

 The people of Horizon were infinite in their kindness, but even then there was no adjusting to life in a hospital. Everything was constantly changing. Wheatley’s life, as always, revolved around Chell (though he was hardly complaining), and she was supposed to be constant. She had always been constant. Strong, and determined, and, in this strange new world, more reliable than the sun. But now Chell seemed to be fading, one by one the traits that made her her were disappearing as her health declined. She had taught Wheatley how to take care of himself, but now she refused to do the things she had taught him. Chell wouldn’t eat. She only wanted to sleep, and she struggled to do even that. Her moods, once impossible to read, were drastic and constantly changing. She was furious, or beaming, or else completely shut down.

 Her moods towards him were especially complicated.

 Wheatley had told Chell before, toward the beginning of their hospital stay, that she didn’t need him anymore. And though she argued that he was wrong, he knew he wasn’t. This was his fault. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he cared, all he ever did was hurt her. Now he had hurt her enough-- already hurt her as badly as was physically possible-- and he deserved to disappear off the face of the Earth. Chell should want him to disappear-- should want him as far away as was possible.

 And sometimes she did.

 More and more often days came where she asked the others to keep Wheatley away, but in a manner that was very polite. No visitors, they said. Chell doesn’t want visitors today. Sometimes, to soften the blow, they said that Sam didn’t want her to have visitors. Though Wheatley never outright asked, he knew that the reasoning behind the statement always changed. Michael would sometimes tell him, or else it was plainly in his eyes (his glare), Chell was too sick for visitors that day. She was miserable, and ashamed, and didn’t want him to see her in such a state. Otherwise she was upset. She was angry, or depressed, or had once again shut down, and she wanted to be alone.

 And, sometimes, Chell just didn’t want to see  _ him _ .

 Others were allowed in-- the children, or Michael, or Claire-- but not Wheatley.

 That was okay-- again, that was what he  _ deserved _ , what he wanted for her sake-- and yet, for every day that Chell kept him away, there were days she spent entirely with him. Days they dedicated to books, or black and white movies. Days that were almost painfully similar to the ones they’d spent at home, curled up on the couch, warm and together, completely at peace.

 Everything was back and forth. Chell’s mood, her health-- every day was a wild card in the worst way possible-- every morning when Wheatley emerged from his room, he didn’t even know if he would get to see her that day. He wasn’t sure if he should want to. 

 The days began to blur.

 

 Wheatley hated the sound of Chell’s coughing. It meant that she was in pain, and it was also a constant reminder of what was happening to her because of him. But on the day he woke at four in the morning, and the sound was strangely absent. Selfish as it was, he would've given anything to hear it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy…
> 
> Random note: I asked for some happy/fluffy things to add to Pieces on Tumblr awhile back, and they're here in this chapter. Codynaomiswire suggested the music box and humanradiohead suggested the doggo. Thank you for the suggestions!
> 
> The song lyrics in this chapter are from The Music Man. 
> 
> Please review!


	32. Needle

 Wheatley opened Chell’s door with shaking hands, preparing for the worst. 

 And what he found wasn’t much better.

 Chell and Michael sat in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp, Michael holding one of her hands as he hovered over her worriedly. She was no longer trying to sit up, no longer propped up on pillows; Chell lay down in her bed, turned so that she was facing Michael. She looked so tired, the shadows under her eyes far darker than they’d ever been before, and everytime she closed them they stayed shut a little longer than they had before. The two of them were saying something, but their voices were too low for Wheatley to hear, and when he entered the room they stopped talking. 

 There was a tense moment of silence as everyone froze. Chell was obviously surprised to see him, but a strange kind of light came to her eyes as she met his, and she managed a soft smile as she held out her hand. 

 Wheatley was good at talking. Arguably, that was the one thing he was good at. The only thing. And by talking he didn’t mean choosing the best, the most eloquent words for the moment at hand-- knowing what to say and when (-- because he was absolute rubbish at that--) but filling space, filling silence, that was the one thing he could do. 

 Wheatley wanted to say something now. And yes, of course, he wanted to say  _ everything  _ that came to mind because he hated silence and was good at talking and talking made him feel better, but he also wanted to say something meaningful. Something that could somehow make Chell feel better, could somehow make her smile. Something. Something useful. But he couldn’t think of one thing he could say that she would want to hear, so instead he stayed silent: tried to keep his composure as he sat beside her and held her hand.

 Chell’s eyes met his for the briefest of moments before her attention returned to Michael. 

 “Alright kid, here's the deal.” Somehow Chell managed to smirk, but Michael stopped her as she tried to sit up. She was going to argue with him. “Ah, ah, ah, listen to me. Just listen.” Both of them were already on the verge of tears. “You're miserable. Some sleep would make you feel a lot better. Easier breathing, less pain.” Wheatley turned white as Michael held up a syringe. “I know you hate the stuff, but at this point it's the lesser of two evils.” 

 Wheatley kept expecting Chell to say something. She never went down without a fight, and even when she was silent her actions spoke volumes. But now she wasn't saying or doing anything. She wasn't fighting. 

 Chell was accepting this. 

 Wheatley didn't understand. 

 And he didn't understand why (instead of responding to Michael) she turned to him with so much emotion in her eyes (which were still as beautiful as ever) as her hand trembled in his. Why she almost smiled. Why she looked at him as though he were about to disappear. 

 Wheatley didn't understand how he was still breathing. How he managed to choke out a broken little laugh through tears, or a flickering smile that matched as he squeezed her hand. 

 “Right here,” Wheatley managed. “Right here, love. Always will be.” He smiled at her brokenly, helplessly. “It's okay.” 

 That was all he could say. There was so much he needed to tell her, but that was all he could say. And the only reason he could speak those last few words was because he knew this would be the last time he ever had to lie to her.

 Wheatley waited, hoped for Chell to say something ( _ anything _ ), but she didn't. She watched him for a moment, then closed her eyes and nodded. She squeezed his hand back now, hard enough to hurt, but it didn't really matter. Everything hurt. 

 Wheatley couldn’t bring himself to watch what Michael was doing at Chell’s other side, so he allowed his head to rest on the edge of the mattress so he couldn’t see what was happening. He stayed that way for what felt like an eternity: squeezing Chell’s hand, and sitting as still and quiet as was physically possible, trying not to have a breakdown-- trying to focus on her, on how she was still there.

 Which became much harder as Chell’s hand went limp in his.

* * *

 

 Most of Wheatley's life had been filled with silence. 

 Wheatley had spent decades, centuries filled with silence, watching as the facility wilted around him. Silence when he asked for answers from the scientists. Silence when the other cores ignored him. Silence when they began to shut down. Silence from Chell when he’d woken her up. Silence before the core transfer, terrifying suspenseful silence in the moments before he was ripped apart, knowing he would be ripped apart. Silence after His meltdown, when He thought He’d killed them. Silence in space. Silence in the field where he’d thought he was going to die.

 This was worse than all of that. 

 Sitting next to Chell in the darkness, listening to the shallow sound of her breathing, knowing that she was right beside him now, but that at any moment she would be gone, would disappear forever-- that was worse than anything Wheatley had ever been through before. He would’ve gladly relived any of his nightmares from Aperture-- all of them-- all over again, if it would prevent this. If it would spare Chell from this.

 Wheatley still held her hand, which had slowly gone limp in his. Something in his chest felt as though it were about to snap in two as he sat beside her and tried far too hard to breathe. 

 Finding out Chell was sick had been terrible, but at least she had been there to comfort him and help hold those feelings at bay. Wheatley had never felt such a raw onslaught of emotion before. He was terrified, and heartbroken, and angry (at himself), and more guilty than he'd ever felt in his life. His entire world was about to shatter into a million pieces, and he couldn't do anything but watch as she slipped away. And he could barely bring himself to do that.

 Michael wasn’t much better off. He sat in the chair that had been beside Chell’s bed, hunched over with his head in his hands.

 Wheatley forced himself to picture what would happen next, and it was the stuff of nightmares. Chell cold. Chell lifeless. Chell gone. He would be here when it happened, and then they would take her away from him and  _ he would never see her again-- _

 He couldn't do this.

 “Please.” Wheatley choked. “Please help her. You have to do something to help her.”

 Michael didn’t look up. 

 “I can’t.” 

 “Yes you can. You  _ know _ you can.”

 His chair creaked as he sat up straighter, but Wheatley still couldn’t see his face. 

 “I already know what you’re going to ask. She told me you would ask. The answer is no.” Dull green eyes glared up at him. “I’ve already told you that.”

 Wheatley tried to take a deep breath, but the little voice in the back of his head screaming  _ treason _ did nothing to help steady his nerves.

 “We have to go back.” Wheatley said, and now it was his hand that was trembling in Chell’s. “I have to take her back. She’s the only one who can help her.”

 Michael looked tired and angry, and not entirely unempathic.

 “She would die down there.”

 Wheatley almost laughed.

 “As opposed to what? To dying up here?”

 Michael frowned.

 “As opposed to dying free. Dying surrounded by people who care about her. As opposed to being  _ murdered _ . Or trapped and tested for the rest of her life.” 

 “She wouldn’t hurt her.” Wheatley shook his head frantically, and his voice matched. “She was sorry, after everything that happened. They teamed up at the end. They were friends. She let her go, She didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. She certainly wouldn’t hurt her.”

 “You trust Her?”

 “Trust isn’t-- it’s not about trust. This isn’t about trust.” Wheatley snapped. “It’s about Chell getting a fair fight. You don’t like the idea of taking her to Her because you think the odds would be stacked against her, but at least there would  _ be _ odds. At least she would have a  _ chance _ at a fair fight. Up here she  _ doesn’t _ stand a chance. The winner is predetermined.”

 And then he said the thing that did them both in, the thing he hated. 

 “We’re the same.” 

 “What?”

 “We are.” Wheatley almost laughed, though it wasn’t a happy laugh. “I hate it but it's true. Especially when it comes to Chell. We’re the same.” His voice turned softer as he looked down at Chell’s hand in his, and his heart plummeted with guilt. “You loved her too.”

 He could feel Michael’s fury from across the room.

 “ _ Wheatley _ \--” 

 “I know, I know—” He held his free hand up in hasty surrender. “It didn’t work out, and now you’re married, and happy, and you don’t want to talk about it, and this is a horribly inappropriate time and circumstance to be bringing such things up, I realize, but my point is, you loved her. You did. And that means that, just like me, you can’t stand to sit back and watch this happen to her. Especially when you know that there’s something you could do to stop it.”  

 Michael said nothing.

 Wheatley continued, cautiously.

 “You won't get hurt. You'll be fine, I promise. I don't need you to go down with me, I just need you to take us there.” He hoped he looked as sincere as he felt. “She won't bother with you. With anyone on the surface, I don't think. She'll be plenty occupied with the two of us.” 

 At some point Michael’s gaze had turned to Chell, and that was where it stayed. 

 “What about you?”

_ Was that a yes?  _

 “That doesn't really matter.” Wheatley gave a sad smile, and yet the ice that crept up his spine at that question wasn't enough to overpower the relief (hope) he was beginning to feel. “If it wasn’t for me we wouldn’t be here in the first place.” 

 Michael didn't argue. 

 “What about Chell?”

 “I-- I can't promise anything.” Wheatley admitted. “But I really don't think She would hurt her. She doesn't seem to like seeing her hurt. The last time I was there She was livid with me for--” He stopped himself. “And if She wanted to use her, to test her, like you said, She would have to heal her first.”

 Michael nodded slowly.

 “And if she was healed--”

 “She could probably escape.” 

 Wheatley now allowed himself to hope. 

 “It could work.” He said, and he meant it. “I know it’s crazy, but it could work. And at the very least, it’s better than this.”

 Michael gave a deep sigh and shook his head.

 “I certainly hope so.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review!


	33. Missing Time

By the time they reached the shed, the faintest bit of light was beginning to bleed over the horizon.

Wheat crunched under his shoes as Wheatley hopped down from the backseat of the truck, and he took some small, smug satisfaction in marring the once perfect landscape. That was the  _ least  _ this place deserved.

But he had far more important things to worry about.

Wheatley had spent the car ride next to Chell, nervous and silent. He worried over her the entire trip, but she slept the whole way and was still in one piece. Now he carefully scooped her out of the back seat, wincing as he did so. She was far too light.

Carrying Chell was strange and ironic. He remembered a long time ago when she had been the one carrying him. He remembered the last time the two of them had been here when he couldn’t walk, and Chell had helped him away from this place. Now he was carrying her back.

Once Wheatley had her situated properly he turned to Michael.

“This is it then.” Wheatley said. He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you for all your help.”

Michael looked pained, as if he were doing the wrong thing. Wheatley had never seen him look so unhappy.

“Be careful.”

From the way he looked at Chell, it was fairly obvious who he was talking to.

* * *

The camera on the Shed watched as Wheatley came closer. The door swung open as he approached, and somehow that was almost as terrifying as what he was about to do. The fact that She was watching them-- that She already  _ knew  _ what he planned to do.

Wheatley took in the surface one last time (the warm colors of the sky at sunrise, the gentle breeze, the songs of the birds), and was hit with a wave of guilt when he realized that Chell couldn’t do the same.

She was probably going to hate him when all was said and done, but she would have to be  _ alive  _ to hate him, so it didn’t really matter.

“I'm so, so sorry about this.” He held her closer, pressing his forehead to the crown of her head. He was trembling. “There was no other way.”

Wheatley hoped with everything he had that Chell would make it back to the surface. He had to remind himself of what he’d told Michael before: that doing this was the only way that could possibly happen.

Stepping into the shed was like entering a nightmare within a nightmare.

The lift was already waiting, cold and fluorescent, and it began to plummet the second Wheatley stepped inside. Then the surface was gone, and they were trapped Here all over again and-

_ What did he just do? _

It was strange to think that a place like this-- so cold, and clinical, and terrifying-- could exist so close to Horizon, a place so cozy and safe. Wheatley had been spoiled by life on the surface. There was an element of unreality as he watched the facility blur by, and he had to readjust to the fluorescent lights and cooler temperatures of the facility, which were a rather unpleasant shock to the system.

The lift took far too long. Maybe it was just because he was terrified, or because it seemed like they were running out of time (that was probably what it was, because it felt to Wheatley as if the lift was actually traveling  _ faster  _ than it was supposed to), but it felt like hours passed before they reached Her chamber. What made it worse was the silence. In all the time he had spent there before, the facility always had a pulse. It didn’t now. Everything was deathly still and silent. The only thing to be heard was the thin, shaky sound of Chell’s breathing, which only made Wheatley more panicked.

He tried to focus on her warmth and weight as he held her (which weren’t as comforting as they should have been, because they weren’t normal), and spoke to her though he knew she couldn’t hear.

“Come on love, you can do it. Hang in there for just a little bit longer.”

But what if she couldn’t?

What if Michael was right? What if She couldn’t help Chell, or refused to? What if she died before they reached Her? What would happen to everyone in Horizon if this didn’t work, and agitated Her in the process?

Wheatley squeezed his eyes shut.

_ ‘Please, please, please…’ _

The lift jolted to a stop, and the doors opened with a hiss.

She was waiting.

Every other time Wheatley had seen the God of Aperture, Her movements were graceful and smug; She lulled from side to side like the tail of a cat before it pounced on unsuspecting prey. Now, She too was still. Her optic burning with hatred as She glared down at him.

“Bring her to me.”

Somehow She sounded angry, and frightened, and gentle at the same time.

Wheatley held Chell closer to his chest and tried to make himself look bigger.

He tried to sound brave.

“Are you going to-”

The ground beneath him shook.

_ “Now.” _

He should've been hesitant to listen to Her. Every instinct he had told him this was a dangerous, terrible idea. He was already in too deep to change his mind, and he didn’t have time to hesitate. A section of panels had been raised directly beneath Her to form a kind of table. Wheatley placed Chell there, very carefully, and almost before he had time to step away both Chell and the panels lowered into the floor. He watched in stunned horror as they disappeared, and moments later the floor replaced itself. Chell was nowhere to be seen.

_ ‘What did you  _ do _?’ _

The gravity of what he’d just done began to hit him in full force.

As soon as Chell was gone Her chamber became darker, the pulse of the facility returning in the form of a low angry hum. She looked very big and all powerful as She glared down at him, Her optic painfully bright, and Wheatley felt very small and helpless as he backed away.

The very air seemed charged with Her anger. Her voice was chillingly sardonic.

“Remember that time you stole my body, turned me into a root vegetable, and destroyed my facility?”

“Y-Yes? Gonna go with yes.” Wheatley swallowed, trembling as he wrung his hands together. “Also, where, um, where did you take-”

“I thought I was angry with you then.” She was creeping towards him, closer and closer, and Her voice turned softer and angrier the closer She came. “Now I realize my mistake.”

“Where did you-”

He flinched as She jolted closer, searing yellow light now inches from his face.

“She is  _ much _ safer than you are, I assure you.”

She hovered there for a moment, glaring at him, before backing away. For several minutes after that She was silent. Wheatley could tell by Her distant expression that Her attention was on Chell, wherever she was. When She returned to the present Her fury was much colder, almost back to normal.

“I'm going to be honest. I've spent a lot of time over the past few years thinking of ways to make you suffer for what you did.” She said darkly. “And despite the fact that I am  _ impressively _ creative, every form of punishment I've come up with pales in comparison to what you deserve for doing  _ this _ .” Her voice turned softer, almost gleeful. “Don't worry, though. I’ll think of something.”

Despite the terror he felt at Her words Wheatley tried to take comfort in them: if She could take the time to threaten him, Chell wasn't too far gone.

That made Wheatley forget his fear.

“Can you help her?”

Something about Her glare turned dull. She almost looked tired.

“You had better hope so.”

"What are you- HEY!" Wheatley flailed as he suddenly found himself in the air, the iron band of one of Her claws too tight around his ribs. He was being moved over-top of one of the little glass chambers She had once trapped Chell in, but he was far too busy panicking to notice. "Let me-- Where are you-"

“Listen very carefully, moron.” She hissed. “If you distract me while I’m doing this she could die, and it would be all your fault—  _ more so _ than it already is. So do us all a favor and keep quiet."

In Her haste and anger She quite accidentally began Wheatley’s punishment by dropping him on his head, because (as She had forgotten but quickly remembered) he wasn’t wearing long fall boots.

He didn’t pester Her anymore after that.

* * *

There was darkness and pain-- pounding in the back of his head-- and then Wheatley’s vision cleared and everything was strange yet familiar at once. It was like stepping into the past after seeing the future: he was aware of what he hadn’t known then and what he did know now, and the differences between the two, and everything felt real, but he knew it wasn’t. This strange phenomenon was slightly less participatory than dreaming. Everything was predetermined.

Wheatley was still in Aperture-- or he should say, he was already in Aperture. He was standing (standing, yes, he was human, that was important, too) in a white paneled room divided down the middle by a kind of glass wall. The other side of the wall looked vaguely like an early suspension chamber, and someone else was standing in it.

"Do you always wear your hair like that? It's lovely."

That was him. He had said that.

To Chell. The same younger version of Chell he had somehow remembered once before. She was standing on the other side of the glass.

He smiled at her somewhat helplessly, and though her expression mirrored his her smile was more of a smirk, and a hesitant one at that.

He cleared his throat, his face turning red as he found his voice.

“Just popped by to say hello. I’m the new human resource, um, guy.” He smiled nervously, straightening out his tie. “Supposed to keep an eye on all the test subjects. Make sure everyone’s in good health, listen to concerns, monitor test results. All that good stuff.” He nodded, already limited confidence draining when she didn't respond. “Just sort of making my rounds to introduce myself… so… I guess I'll be on my way now.” Wheatley stopped as she began to chuckle, partially because even her  _ laugh _ was silent (and rather adorable, too, with the way her nose crinkled up like that), and partially because despite the fact that she was hardly falling over with laughter, he got the feeling that even getting a giggle out of this lady was an impressive feat. He smiled despite himself, a goofy lopsided grin. “It’s ironic, people laugh at me all the time when I’m being serious, but they rarely laugh at my actual jokes.” Sobering considerably, she tapped the left side of her collarbone. When Wheatley looked down at the same spot on his shirt, he saw his nametag and realized his mistake. “Oh-OH- Right, might want to actually introduce myself, hm? My name is Wheatley. What’s yours?”

Silence.

Her smile turned tight and almost sympathetic as she started back at him, making no move to speak.

Wheatley was more than a bit thrown.

“Um… do you not- do you not have a name?” She smiled again, a little more strained this time, and pointed to a clipboard on the other side of the glass. “Oh, this?” He picked it up, carefully leafing through its pages. “Let's see… Chell! Chell... Redacted? Why would your name be…?” His face tinged pink as he realized that he'd made these musings aloud, and that the lady in front of him would probably find them rather rude. He cleared his throat. “Hm. Well, I suppose that's really none of my business. Still though, Chell, that's a rather pretty name. Very unique. I think it suits you perfectly.” Chell blinked up at him in surprise, but had time to do little more before he continued to barrel through their one sided conversation. “So!” He smiled a little too brightly, “Are you a volunteer like the others? Or, how long have you been a test subject here?” Stoic as she (usually) was, Chell did absolutely lose it at that. Laughing--  _ giggling _ (God help her)-- in front of the new hr guy was bad enough, but now she actually had to clutch at her sides to hold herself together. His smile was equal parts dazed and amused as he watched her dissolve into another silent fit of laughter. “Oh! Um, I seem to have done that thing again. The, uh, accidentally being funny while being serious… bit. What was it that I--  _ Wow _ , you're really-- are you  _ crying _ ? Was it really that funny?” His smile was a touch concerned when he noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks, but she quickly brushed them away, shaking her head as she tried to collect herself, and not quite succeeding. “Well, I've obviously missed my true calling as a comedian. Are you going to tell me what's so funny? No?” Wheatley gave an amused little huff as she made a shooing motion with one hand, still smiling and trying to calm down. “Alright. I suppose that's enough excitement for one day.” Grey eyes were lit with an endearing light as they met bright blue. “It was very nice meeting you. If you ever need anything don't hesitate to-- well, you know.”

* * *

It was only a day or so before Wheatley was back, still full of smiles and questions and pleasant chatter.

Chell was sitting on the floor when he came in (her hair now arranged in a different braid), and before she could stand he copied her, albeit on the other side of the glass barrier that divided them. For some reason that seemed to amuse (and confuse) her.

Wheatley smiled brightly as he sat down.

“You’ve got a nice little spot on the corner here. Got the whole place to yourself. Unlike those other ladies, all scrunched together in the other room.” He allowed his head to lull into his hand as he thought aloud. “Why aren’t you in there with them?”

Chell gave a light frown, thinking for a moment before making a terrifying face and jumping back as if frightened. Despite the glass barrier between them, Wheatley flinched.

“They’re... scared of you?” He asked. “Really?” Chell nodded. He scoffed. “Well I’m not. And I’m pretty easy to scare. Have to admit.” A dopey smile bloomed across his face as he thought. “You know, that's actually kind of funny. It's just, you're such a  _ little _ lady. You're not frightening, you're  _ adorable _ .” They both froze. Wheatley felt his face turn red. “I mean-- erm-- you're not-- I mean you  _ are _ , but, um-- you're not very  _ frightening _ , is all I meant.” He winced. “Sorry.”

For her part, Chell didn’t seem to react to what he’d just said. Her features remained stoic (though a bit dazed) as they sat in awkward silence. Wheatley was not so gifted at hiding his emotions, and so he opted to hide his face in his hands until it no longer felt like it was on fire.

When he looked up he was wearing another goofy smile, this one much softer.

“Can I just say-- you’re the nicest person I’ve met here? By far. And I’m not just talking about test subjects, either. I mean, out of the whole lot, every person in the building-- every single one of them has been rude to me save for you.” His smile was so genuine that Chell found herself copying it before she knew what was happening. “And I know you don't talk, but you listen. And smile. And laugh. So… Thank you. It's been a long time since anyone has bothered to listen to me.”

Judging by the look on Chell’s face, it had been awhile since anyone had listened to her, either.

* * *

Against all odds, a strange kind of friendship developed between the two of them. Chell never spoke and Wheatley never stopped talking. She was stoic if she could help it, while he was an open book. They were always divided by the glass wall that ran the length of the room, but over time they grew closer.

Wheatley visited Chell every afternoon, and seeing her quickly became the highlight of his day. They would sit on the floor together on opposite sides on the glass, and spend hours in their one sided conversations. Chell never spoke to him but she listened, and she cared, and that was more than anyone else bothered to do. Chell was bright and brilliant, and it wasn’t hard to become fond of her. He had never met anyone with such intense focus. Her eyes were filled with the emotion her face rarely showed: curiosity, and skepticism, and mirth. Chell didn’t need a voice: she could get most points across with a simple look. Somehow-- even without a voice-- she managed to be funny... and sweet. The more time they spent together the more Chell opened up, and the more Wheatley saw what a lovely person she was.

Testing transformed her.

Watching Chell test was humbling and awe-inspiring. She was a force of nature-- brilliant (as ever), quick, and deadly. She devoured test chambers: there was no test she couldn’t solve. Yet, through all of that, Wheatley still caught glimpses of his Chell. Her eyes still gave her emotions away. Wheatley could tell when a turret surprised her, or when soaring through the air made her want to laugh. She often smirked to herself after completing a test.

It wasn’t until Wheatley saw Chell interacting with the scientists that he realized how much she trusted him. No one else got smiles from Chell-- rarely did anyone else get eye contact from Chell. The scientists saw her as a tool, not a person, and they treated her as such. Wheatley wasn’t much better off: he knew they saw him as nothing more than an idiot.

So the two of them were united in their isolation. It was Wheatley and Chell against the world.

Wheatley was always relieved to see that Chell was okay, and (maybe it was just wishful thinking, but) the feeling seemed to be mutual.

He worried when Chell’s test sessions ran long. If ever she got hurt (which was a very rare occurrence), he worried over her injuries more than she did.

Wheatley didn’t like it when Chell was hurt or bored, cooped up in that stupid glass room, all alone with nothing to do and no one to talk to (not that she talked). So he began to sneak her things. Little things from around the office at first, paper clips and rubber bands and the like-- things that no one would miss, but that might entertain her. Then one day he came in to find her wearing a necklace made of paper clips (and smiling rather adorably), at which point he realized how lousy those were and decided to buy her something better.

Now  _ that  _ was very strange. When Wheatley had first gotten a job here at Aperture, his only concern had been money, because he hardly had any. He wanted out of his tiny little one bedroom apartment more than anything-- he wanted to be able to buy something to eat that didn’t come from a fast food joint or a crumby take out place. But now he often bought small gifts for Chell; whether it was a notebook for her to write in, or some clips for her hair, or a slice of cake from the cafeteria.

He still needed money, he would admit-- there were days when he barely had enough for rent  _ or  _ crumby takeout-- but Chell’s life was nothing but testing, and white walls, and silence, and she needed (and deserved) such commodities far more than Wheatley did.

(Not to mention the way she  _ smiled _ when he gave her such things. The way her eyes lit up with curiosity and fondness, and, just for a moment, she was openly happy.)

After several months Wheatley wondered just how much she really needed them.

“If you don't mind my asking, what do you do when you're not testing?” Wheatley asked. Chell looked surprised. “It's just, you're not in there with all the other ladies. You're all alone in this glass room which, frankly, I'm a little too frightened to ask about.” They exchanged nervous smiles. “Don't you get bored in here?”

Chell thought for a moment before pointing to the door and making a waving motion.

“What? You want me to come in there?” Chell nodded. Wheatley blinked. “...Am I allowed to do that?” She rolled her eyes pleasantly before pointing at the clipboard that hung on the wall. Wheatley made a small fuss about having to get up before retrieving it and leafing through its pages. “I  _ am  _ allowed to do that.” He said brightly. His smile turned more dubious as he continued reading. “But for some reason there are a lot of rules here...” Chell frowned. “It looks like this door can only be opened with a password……. And I’m supposed to have you turn around before I put it in.” Chell’s expression was so flat that Wheatley couldn’t help but laugh. “I swear, it really does say that! Look!” He covered the part of the page that showed the password before turning it for her to see. “What’s the deal with that?”

Chell’s expression was bitterly dry, as if he was missing something important.

Wheatley didn’t notice.

“So…” He started sheepishly, “Can you turn around? Please?”

Chell gave a long, silent sigh before doing as she was asked.

“Alright.” Wheatley mumbled quietly to himself as he fiddled with the door, and there was a soft hydraulic hiss as it opened and closed behind him. “Hello!” He waved as she turned back around, and it might’ve been his imagination but he swore that, just for a second, her mouth twitched into a smile. It wasn’t too often that they were on the same side of the glass. “What was it that you wanted to show me?”

Chell lead him to the back corner of the room (which was surprisingly larger than it looked from the other side of the glass), where the floor was covered in boxes and random bits and pieces.

“More puzzles?” Wheatley frowned as he picked a rubix cube up off of the floor. “I never could figure out how to solve one of these…” Chell plucked it from his hands, and within a matter of seconds she solved and returned it. “Hey! I was- Whoa.” He breathed. Chell smirked at his delayed reaction. “How did you- Did you solve all of these? You did?” His smile brightened as she nodded. “That's incredible! You're just, you're brilliant, aren't you?” Maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought she turned the slightest shade of pink. “I'll bet you anything that's why the others don't want you in there with them. It's nothing you've done at all. They're just jealous, because you're too smart for them.” He gave the cube back to her, still smiling. “Do you like solving these? All these tests and puzzles and things?”

Chell blinked up at him as if she didn’t understand his question.

She frowned at the puzzle in her hands. It was still solved.

Wheatley continued talking.

“Guess you're just kind of used to all of it, huh? All of this probably just feels like a job to you. You're very good at it though, either way.” He fiddled with a sliding tile puzzle, which, once solved, formed a picture of a companion cube. Not that he could solve it. “Do you know many of the other test subjects? Are they as good at all of this as you are?” Wheatley frowned as he realized his mistake. “Oh, right. They're afraid of you.” He winced.  _ Idiot _ . “Sorry.” Chell managed a tight smile as he fought the urge to kick himself. “If it makes you feel any better, they're not too fond of me, either. Not nearly as nice as you. They don't listen to a word I say, hardly let me speak at all, and they throw things at me!” Chell pressed her lips together in a poor attempt at hiding a smile. Wheatley scoffed. “Completely uncivilized! You're better off in here, you are. Away from those viscous... ladies.”

When Wheatley stopped talking he noticed that Chell was smiling at him rather warmly. Something pleasant blossomed in his chest as he copied her with his own goofy grin, and for a moment everything was perfect: they were finally on the same side of the glass, and she was happy, he had gotten her to smile, and  _ (ohdearLordwhatwashappening) _ it seemed as if she was leaning in closer— but then Chell froze and her smile disappeared.

Wheatley could feel his face turn red as the two of them stared at each other from a distance that was awkwardly close, and he Did Not Know What To Do.

“Everything alright?” He managed.

After a moment crystal eyes refocused, and Wheatley flinched as Chell came back to the present, nearly jerking away and hastily picking a book up off of the floor.

He knew that her notebook was reserved for important messages: things she couldn’t communicate with gestures and funny faces. There were only so many pages, only so many things she could say before the only voice she had ran out, and apparently this needed to be one of them.

Chell’s expression was serious, defensive (guilty), and almost accusatory as she held the notebook out for him to see.

_ ‘How did you get down here?’ _

Wheatley gave her a questioning smile.

“There’s an elevator?” The smile disappeared from his face as he took in Chell’s expression and realized what she meant. “Oh.” His voice turned darker. Flatter. “I, um… I could ask the same of you. Couldn’t I?” His tone was cold and almost indifferent, and neither one of them liked it. It didn’t suit him, and Chell’s apprehensive expression made him drop it. “But you asked first.” Wheatley said softly. He looked down at his shoes, and scuffed at the floor. “I don’t- I don’t really have anywhere else to go. My parents… There was an accident.” He said quietly. “My only other family lives here in the states so I got shipped off to them. They were thrilled, as you can imagine. Kicked me to the curb at the first opportunity.” He tried for a smile that he didn’t quite reach. “But, hey. It’s not so bad. I’ve got a job and a place to live. It may not be much, but it’s more than some will ever see.”  Chell’s eyes looked sad as they met his. “What about you?”

Chell looked away as Wheatley read (and reread) her next note.

_ ‘Company property.’  _ It said.

Wheatley reread those words ten more times. They didn’t change.

“What?” He finally managed. Wheatley’s expressions were  _ always  _ open, and he was horrified. He even  _ sounded  _ horrified. “How- What did- What do you mean?” Chell tapped what she’d written, deadpan. Wheatley shook his head. “You’re a person. No one can own you. I don’t understand what you mean.” He sounded like he was trying to calm himself down. “You’ve already said you weren’t a volunteer. Did you… sign a contract?” Crystal grey eyes glared daggers at him, and shame swallowed him whole as his face turned bright red. “Without reading the fine print?”

Understandably, she didn't respond.

Something in his stomach sank as Wheatley realized what this meant: that they would never let her out of this place. The other test subjects left, after awhile (one way or another), but Chell never did. This must be why.

He was almost too afraid to ask his next question.

“...How long have you been here?”

Chell wouldn’t look him in the eye.

_ ‘Too long.’ _

He couldn’t imagine.

“Do you remember the surface?”

Chell stared at the floor.

_ (When she was younger they had given her a puzzle of a garden, with flowers, and trees, and a sunset-- things she’d never seen in real life. At first she solved it over and over again, but as she grew older she left the completed picture on the floor just so she could look at it. One day she returned from testing to find that the puzzle was gone. She hadn’t seen any pictures of the surface since.) _

She shook her head.

“Really?” Wheatley drooped. “So you don't remember… trees? Or the grass? Or the stars? The moon? Don't know what any of that looks like?” His heart broke as she shook her head. “Oh, love… I'm so sorry.”

_ (She believed him. He actually looked sorry. Why? Why did he care?) _

“Do you want to see? Do you want out, I mean?”

Chell’s eyes went wide as saucers. Wheatley fought the urge to laugh.

“If there was a whole other world I knew nothing about, I’m not sure I’d want to see it.” He smiled nervously. “But then you probably couldn’t be more different than me. And if this place was the only world I knew…” Wheatley’s expression softened. “Of course you’d want out.” He brightened, then, as an idea came to him, and Chell instantly looked weary. “I could let you out. I should let you out, shouldn’t I?” He beamed. “I could show you the way.”

Wheatley had never seen Chell look timid before.

_ ‘Are you sure?’ _

“Yes.” Wheatley smiled. “Maybe the most sure I’ve ever been.”

She nodded, biting back an almost disbelieving smile.

_ ‘Lead the way.’ _

* * *

There were more doors that required passwords, and security cameras which they had to avoid, but eventually the two of them ducked into an elevator which Wheatley said lead to the surface. Chell seemed to be finding it more and more difficult to remain stoic, but, as always, remained silent. Wheatley found it necessary to fill said silence.

“Right, so, it's dark outside. At the moment. Things look a bit different than they usually do.” Chell looked at him curiously, and it occurred to him that she probably had no idea what he was talking about. He kept talking anyway. “Still though, very pretty. And it's a clear night, so you can see the stars.” He smiled. “Ready?”

Chell nodded.

The doors of the lift opened, and her jaw dropped.

_ (The air here moved. It was fresh, and real, and crisp. The wheat reached her knees as it swayed in the wind, and she brushed it with her hands, taking in the strange sensations of the surface. _

_ Dirt. Soil,  _ earth _ , messy and uneven, soft between her toes. The strange scratchiness of the wheat. _

_ Everything had a different texture, and different colors. There were no panels, no fluorescent lights, not a hint of white or grey to be found. It was  _ warm _. Chell had been cold all her life. The sounds here were so different, so soft and natural. Not the loud mechanical buzzers or synthesized hums of the facility. _

_ There were no walls. No locked doors. Nothing to pen her in. The sky was endless, and filled with so much darkness and light. She stared up at it in awe, and felt wonderfully small. _

_ After a long time Chell turned back around to see where she had come from, and she couldn’t believe the entrance to that sprawling prison was an innocent looking shed in the middle of a field. How was any of this real?) _

Something warm blossomed in Wheatley's chest as he watched Chell react to her surroundings with the wonder of a child. Usually she hid everything, and it was strange and wonderful to see such emotion play out on her face so clearly.

“What do you think?”

She looked so  _ happy _ , so  _ openly happy _ , and then she was beaming at him-- she had him in a rib crushing hug, her face buried in the fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you.” She breathed.

Chell’s voice was every bit as beautiful as Wheatley had imagined it to be: a little rough from disuse, but soft and low and lovely.

“You can  _ talk _ ?” Wheatley choked, and then he was released, left to swoon as she turned away, laughing. “Chell!” He whined (still smiling) when she returned to silence, but she only looked at him coyly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What, now you’re just going to pretend that never happened? That’s no fair!” Chell gave him a very innocent smirk, but the light in her eyes was far too playful. Wheatley tried not to take it personally. “Why did you never talk before?” He asked. At that Chell gave him one of her warning looks, and he submitted. “Alright.”

Seemingly satisfied, Chell returned her attention to the stars.

Wheatley wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but it felt like too long and not long enough. He would have to take her back inside, soon.

_ Wait. _

“Oh my God,” Chell jumped as he turned to her, horrified. “I’m horrible, aren’t I? I’m a horrible person.” She gave a confused frown. Wheatley motioned to the shed. “I can’t just-- honestly expect you go back down there. To That. After bringing you up here to see all this.” Chell looked as if she hadn’t thought of that, even more so after what he said next. “You should go.” He wasn’t sure who was more shocked by what he’d just said, but of course that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I mean-- I know you don’t really have anywhere to go. And… you probably don’t understand… how anything out here works…..” Wheatley raked a hand through his hair. “... This is actually worse than I thought it would be.” He smiled up at her weakly. “There’s not really a winning move here, is there?”

Thankfully, Chell had had the foresight to bring the notebook with her.

_ ‘You would lose your job if I left.’ _

If her expression was any indication, she thought that should’ve been the end of the matter.

Wheatley laughed.

“Is  _ that _ what you’re worried about?” Chell almost looked insulted. “It’s a wonder they haven’t fired me already, at the rate people disappear in this place.” He seemed less joking, then. “I should probably  _ leave _ . Should probably get out of here while I still can. But then… if I was going to leave, what would be the harm in going out with a bang, as they say?” Wheatley held out his hand. “What do you say?”

He could tell that she was considering it. He could practically see the wheels in her head turning as she looked timidly from his hand, to the shed, to the rest of the world around her. And then, just as she had before, Chell froze as something on the horizon caught her gaze.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Wheatley thought he saw the glint of red lights in the distance.

With a bleak, polite smile, Chell shook her head.

_ ‘Not yet.’ _

* * *

They went back inside.

* * *

Neither one of them noticed the camera mounted on the shed.

* * *

_ (Chell paced as she fought with herself. _

_ She didn’t like testing. She had spent her entire life-- she didn’t even know how many years-- doing nothing but solving tests-- and she didn’t even  _ like _ them. _

_ And she hadn’t even  _ known _ that she didn’t like them until someone  _ asked _ her if she did. _

_ Yes, she would admit, solving tests was entertaining enough (science was fun), but once they were solved what was the point? _

_ What was Aperture testing? The portal gun? Chell had done nothing but portal based testing for years, and for what? The ASHPD was always the same device. It was never modified. And Chell had been to the surface now, and she hadn’t seen any portal guns there. It wasn’t as if the world was a giant test chamber. So what was the point? What did anyone need a portal gun for? What did anyone need these tests for? _

_ Why did she need to test? _

‘Do you want out?’

_ She stopped. _

_ She  _ did _ want out. _

‘You would lose your job if I left.’

_ But she didn’t want that. _

_ Wheatley had been so nice to her— nicer than anyone else ever had. He didn’t give her grief for her silence. He talked to her all the time, even though she never replied. He made her laugh. He bought her  _ gifts _ for heaven’s sake. Wheatley was the only one who treated Chell like a person (or maybe even a friend) instead of an animal. He didn’t deserve to lose his job because of her-- even if he did work in a place like this. She had heard him talk about how badly he needed money. He needed this job. _

_ And Chell needed her freedom. _

_ She had seen the stars, now, and tasted fresh air, and felt the earth beneath her feet, and she couldn’t go back to a life without them. She wouldn’t. _

_ Wheatley hadn’t had her turn around when he’d reentered the code on her side of the door, or when he’d entered any of the other codes required to open the security doors. _

_ Chell could go back to the surface on her own. In the dark it was less likely that anyone would see her, and it would be easy enough to spot the turrets glowing eyes in the dark. This was just another test. She could figure this out on her own. She could escape, and Wheatley wouldn’t have to be involved.) _

* * *

When Wheatley returned the next day Chell was gone.

He didn’t panic at first. He tried to check the chart on the wall to see if she was scheduled for testing, but it was missing. When he entered her side of the room he found that all of her puzzles were missing, along with all the gifts he had given her.

Wheatley made a mad dash for the infirmary.

He knew it was stupid-- he should take a page from her book and not express emotion so openly, not in this place-- but he didn’t care. Wheatley had to know what had happened to Chell. He had to know that she was okay. He didn’t know what he would do if she wasn’t.

He found out soon enough.

The front walls of the infirmary were much like the one that had divided the two of them for so long: glass panels. Through them he could see Chell, pale and unconscious, lying in a hospital bed with a tube in her arm. Dead on his feet, Wheatley moved towards the entrance.

“You can’t go in there.”

There was someone else there. A man twice Wheatley’s size, and stronger than he could ever hope to be, was blocking the door to Chell’s room.

“You can’t go in there.” That was all he ever said in that cold, hateful voice. “No visitors.”

Wheatley could see Chell through the glass, see her lying there, motionless and alone, but each time he tried to get closer he was pushed away.

“You can’t go in there.”

Something inside of him broke.

“N-no, no, you don’t understand.” He was trembling, and so was his voice. “I’m her- I’m- I need to go in there. I need to see her. It’s all my fault, and she’s all a-alone and she’s in p-pain and I can’t just leave her here all alone, I have to see her, you have to let me see her- p-please.” And though Wheatley couldn’t seem to stop trembling, his fear turned to something else as he met the man’s eyes, and stood a little straighter. “I’ll do anything.”

There was another voice, and it’s owner didn’t sound surprised to see him there.

“Wheatley.”

He turned around, not recognizing the voice at first, and frowned in confusion.

“Henry?”

It  _ was _ Henry. Henry whos job title Wheatley did not know, Henry who seemed to have a hand in everything that happened here at Aperture. Henry who Wheatley hoped would have answers.

“What happened to her?” Wheatley choked.

Henry almost looked pitying.

“You did.”

“What?”

“You let her outside.”

It was almost a question. Like Wheatley might not actually be that stupid.

But of course he was.

“And I brought her back in.” Wheatley deflected. “What happened to her?”

“She went back. She tried to escape.” Henry said quietly. “The parameter is covered in turrets. She got too close.”

Wheatley’s blood turned to ice.

“Oh my God.”

Henry looked through the glass behind them.

“They found her like that this morning. They’re trying to keep her under for now.”

Wheatley pressed his palms into his eyes, and tried to breathe.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“They don’t know.” Henry said. Something in his eyes looked guilty. “But it might be better if she wasn’t.”

“What?”

“You care about her?”

Again, he was only halfway asking.

“I-” Wheatley stopped. Chell wouldn’t have answered that question. “Why?”

Henry frowned.

“Do you know how long she’s been here?”

He remembered her note from the night before, which now felt like a lifetime ago.

“A long time.” Wheatley said. “Too long.”

“Since she was a kid. Her entire life, I think.” He sounded distant. “They’re never going to let her out, Wheatley.” Much to his surprise, Henry smiled, then; though it wasn’t a happy smile. “I know that’s what you were trying to do. I honestly can’t say that I blame you. But I don’t know that dropping her alone in a world she knows nothing about is any better than leaving her here. Even if you leave her like this.”

Wheatley was becoming increasingly irked.

“What are you suggesting?”

Something in Henry's expression darkened.

“What if she can’t test anymore, after this? What do you think they’ll use her for if she can’t test?”

Wheatley raked a shaking hand through his hair.

“If she can’t test why wouldn’t they just let her go?”

“Because she knows too much.” Henry said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “ _ Think _ . What other types of tests are conducted here?”

All sorts of terrible things, Wheatley knew. Aperture had specialized in everything from (asbestos lined) shower curtains, to (poisonous) food products, to  _ beyond _ experimental--

Oh no.

**_Oh no._ **

“Medical testing.” Wheatley said dismally.

“Exactly.”

Henry didn’t seem to notice Wheatley turning green.

“If she wakes up, and she’s too hurt, or frightened, or stubborn to test anymore, they’ll force her into medical testing. They’ll turn her into more of a human guinea pig than they already have. That’s the rest of her life.” Henry was very obviously trying to sound placating. “If you leave her here,” He reasoned, “If you just let her sleep-”

“No!” Wheatley cried. “I can’t just-- Wait!” He froze as the wheels in his head began to turn (and perhaps break a few cobwebs in their wake). “You don’t want her escaping, and you don’t want them putting her into medical testing. You just want her to sleep?” He asked. “Why don’t you put her in cryo?”

Henry frowned.

“Is that really any better?”

Wheatley tried not to sound sarcastic.

“... Better than leaving her here to die?”

Henry obviously disapproved.

“Would she ever wake up?”

“Will she ever wake up  _ now _ ?”

Henry crossed his arms.

“I fail to see how your plan is any better.”

“Look,” Wheatley started, “What if we gave them a  _ reason  _ to put her in cryo? We could make it sound like she couldn’t test anymore and that was the best…  _ use  _ for her, and then once it worked and she was under, we could make it sound like keeping her here was a waste of resources and try to free her!”

Henry looked skeptical.

“And how exactly would we do that?”

Wheatley thought for a moment, then smiled bitterly.

“What’s the one thing this place needs more than test subjects?”

Henry’s answer was immediate.

“Money.” Then (after a brief laugh), “You don’t  _ have  _ any money.”

“But I know where I can get some.” Wheatley pointed at the ceiling. “Remember that prerecorded message? Sixty dollars per testing track. Not to mention that letting her go would save them money, if they had her in cryo.”

“This is a bad idea.” Henry rubbed a hand over his balding head, and suddenly looked up, confused. “Why are you doing this? You can go  _ now _ . You can leave without her. Why don’t you?”

“Because there isn’t a  _ point  _ without her!” Wheatley threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “I don’t have anywhere to go. My own family doesn’t want me. I can’t do  _ anything _ . I’m not good for anything.” He gave a huff of laughter, as another thought made him smile, helplessly. “But I can make her laugh.” Wheatley turned red (he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud), but continued smiling. “She’s the only person in the world who cares about me. And she’s  _ brilliant _ . Someone like her-- she could change the world. She could.” He had already made up his mind about this, and there was no changing it. “I have to get her out of here. She needs to get out of here, and helping her is the only thing I’m good for.”

Henry looked Wheatley up and down, and something about his continence almost seemed sad.

“What do you want me to do?”

Wheatley tried not to look surprised.

“Can you convince them to wake her up?”

“I can try.”

“Okay.” Wheatley said dazedly. “We’ll need to figure everything else out first, though.” “We have to put something in her file that says she’s unfit for testing. Some kind of problem that they’re just finding now that she’s in the infirmary. Something they didn’t notice before.”

Wheatley looked sheepishly from Henry to the man guarding Chell’s door, wringing his hands.

“But can I see her first?”

 

* * *

The lights of the infirmary were lowered in the evenings to help patients sleep. Wheatley rushed to Chell’s side, tripping over his own two feet in the darkness and trying not to fall.

The sight of Chell nearly made him do just that.

He remembered how fierce and proud she looked while testing, and how curious and awe struck she had been-- the light in her eyes-- that night on the surface. But now she just looked small, and fragile. Helpless. And it was terrifying, because it was so unlike her.

“Chell,” Wheatley choked. “Oh God, God,” He took her hands in his and pressed them to his forehead, trying to reassure himself that she was still there. “I'm sorry. I'm so  _ so _ sorry. I wanted to keep you safe, but I failed you. I guess at this point it really shouldn't be all that surprising, but I-” Her hair was down. She never wore her hair down. Wheatley sniffled, and tried for a smile. “Have I told you today how pretty you are? Because, I mean, wow. I know you love putting your hair in all those fancy braids and clips and things, but I think it looks perfect just like that. And of course you look perfect no matter what you're wearing or what you've done to your hair-- braid, ponytail, jumpsuit, hospital gown-- you can pull off anything. You’re perfect.” He gave her a smile that would have been far too affectionate for her liking. “You would probably glare at me, or nudge me really hard, or do something to show just how much you me calling you that, but it's true. You are perfect. And if you’re not, then you're the next best thing. The closest anyone, any human being has ever come to claiming the title. I’m sorry you got stuck with me, because I’m probably the farthest thing from it.” Wheatley’s voice turned heavier as he squeezed her hands. “But I need you to do me a favor. Because you’re perfect and I’m an incapable undeserving mess. I need you to wake up.” His voice cracked, pathetically. “I need you to get better.” He begged. “I don’t care if you do it for me, or yourself, or your freedom— for the sun, or the stars, or the sky, or the grass, or the dirt— or just because these jerks in white lab coats say you aren’t going to, and you want to prove them wrong. I just need you to wake up. I don’t care how or why. Because if you can do that, that one  _ tiny _ thing, if you can just open your eyes for me, I  _ promise _ , I’ll do everything I can-- anything I can to get you out of this place. Even if I don’t leave with you. I’ll find a way to get you out. I promise.” Wheatley gave a weak little laugh. “Just  _ please  _ keep being your perfect, stubborn self.”

Stubborn.

_ Stubborn. _

* * *

Henry squinted at the file in front of him.

“Tenacity?” He asked.

Wheatley suppressed a smile.

“She’s extremely stubborn.”

“Yeah, but is that even a thing you can measure? And why would that be a reason not to test her?”

“Testing tenacity seems like the kind of thing that Aperture would waste money on. And if she has dangerous levels of tenacity that would mean she doesn’t listen to anyone. You can put her in a testing track but she won’t test, or she’ll find a way to escape.” Wheatley gave a smile that was half wince. “Which apparently she did try.”

Henry shrugged.

“Alright. So what’s the next step in your master plan?”

“Well,” Wheatley started, “You said that even if she’s unfit for testing, they won’t let her go. Right?”

“Right.”

“For now, to keep her safe, I want you to try to make her a candidate for a different kind of test.”

Henry nodded.

“Cryogenic storage.”

“It would keep her safe.” Wheatley reiterated. “She would no longer be a test candidate for the ASHPD, but they still wouldn’t release her, so they would need to do something with her. This way she would be asleep. No one could hurt her.”

Henry frowned as he thought aloud.

“Yes, but if she couldn’t test they wouldn’t let her  _ out _ of cryo, would they?”

“That’s where the bribery part comes in. And I think it makes it even better.” Wheatley smiled, far too pleased with himself. “I would be offering to pay them to free a test subject they can’t even use.”

“But what if something happens to you in the meantime?” Henry asked. “She’ll be stuck there for God knows how long.”

Wheatley paused. He hadn’t thought of that.

“I certainly hope that doesn’t happen. But even if it does… she won’t know. She’ll just be asleep.” He said slowly. “Isn’t that better than this?”

Henry looked skeptical.

“Is that really for you to decide?”

* * *

Wheatley ran to the infirmary for the second time that month, now for a much happier reason.

Chell jumped as he burst through the door.

“You’re awake! You’re okay!” Wheatley gushed, rushing to her side and crushing her in a hug. Chell tried to squirm way, hissing in silent pain. Wheatley relented. “Sorry, sorry!” He yelped, raising his hands in surrender. Chell gave him a smirk that was half annoyed and half affectionate as she rubbed at her side, and the sight of it made him want to cry. “I’m so glad- I thought-” Her smile turned softer as he swiped at his eyes. “God, don’t scare me like that, lady!” Somehow Wheatley managed a laugh. “How are you feeling?”

Chell’s smile faded at that, and she grabbed the notebook from her bedside table.

_ ‘Uneasy.’  _ She wrote _. _

“That’s… understandable.” Wheatley frowned, sympathetic. He then flashed her a nervous smile. “I have an idea.”

Chell raised an eyebrow.

_ ‘Well?’ _

“Well... you want out. Right?” Chell looked surprised, but her expression was somewhat blank. She didn’t respond. “You were trying to escape, and that’s when you got… hurt.” They both winced. “So I’m assuming you want out of this place. Is that… an accurate... summary of events?” Chell glanced around to make sure no one was watching before nodding. “Okay.” Wheatley said, lowering his voice. “I have a plan to help you get out of here.” He took a deep breath. “Aperture has created a process that allows test subjects to sleep for years at a time, and safely be woken up-” Chell shook her head, looking terrified. Wheatley rushed to clarify. “No, no, no, no, no-- I swear to you-- I am not sending you away for a five hundred year nap, okay? I just have to put you where they can’t reach you, until I can get you out.” Chell calmed, but still looked quizzical. “Look, I know it sounds crazy. But if we make up an excuse as to why you can’t test, we can convince them to put you in cryo for just a little while, and we can keep you safe from every other kind of test. And in the meantime, while you’re asleep, we can convince them that they’d be better off letting you go.”

Chell frowned, and quickly scribbled another note.

_ ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’ _

“Well, I did come up with it.” Wheatley teased. “But does anything that Aperture does make any sense?”

Chell thought for a moment. Her next note backtracked.

_ ‘Better off how?’ _

Wheatley suddenly looked sheepish.

“I thought I could try to… buy… your freedom. For you.”

Grey eyes widened, and Wheatley couldn’t tell if she was more insulted or frightened.

_ ‘What?’ _

“Don’t give me that look.” He tried to tease her again, but she was having none of it. She wouldn’t so much as look at him. “Chell- are you ignoring me?” Wheatley huffed out a laugh. “Believe it or not, I happen to know a thing or two about testing. From my job, where I supervise test subjects. Testing. All day. There’s nothing to worry about.” Chell turned back on him with baleful grey eyes. “Stubborn.” She stuck her tongue out at him. Wheatley smiled. “I’m going to try to buy your freedom.” He repeated, now more gently. “When I get enough money I’ll wake you up, and you and I can leave.”

Chell shook her head, and she very nearly looked angry. The words of her next note were underlined.

_ ‘You can leave now. You should.’ _

Now it was Wheatley’s turn to be stubborn.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

_ ‘Why not?’ _

“Because- I-“

Wheatley couldn’t finish that sentence. The words wouldn’t come out, and even if they did he wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to say them-- Chell wouldn’t want him to say them. But Wheatley was becoming somewhat sick of words (and actions meant more to Chell), anyways, and no one was around, and there had been a time only a week ago when he’d thought he would never see her again, and so he had quite a bit more courage than usual. And these were several of the reasons why, instead of answering Chell (or perhaps in answer to Chell), he kissed her.

It wasn’t happy, and soft, and timid as it might’ve been; it was fierce and desperate, it was  _ ‘How dare you’ _ and  _ ‘I don’t want to lose you.’  _ To Wheatley’s surprise Chell didn’t push him away when he kissed her. Her hands tangled into his hair as she pulled him closer, while his found their way around her waist. The kiss ended quickly-- faster than at least Wheatley would’ve liked it to-- because time was something they were running sorely low on, and they couldn’t afford to be seen.

When they pulled apart Chell’s expression was furious, and confused, and soft, and she was smirking a dazed little smirk. Her face was now a lovely shade of pink.

Wheatley, on the other hand, was redder than a firetruck.

“That’s why. Not.” Wheatley managed. He took her hands in his and squeezed them. “You just have to trust me.”

And for some reason, she did.

* * *

 

Wheatley was trying very hard not to cry, and was not entirely succeeding.

Chell sat on the edge of a cryogenic storage unit, which looked to both of them like a futuristic coffin. This was not a reassuring thought.

“So this is goodbye, I guess. For a little while at least.” Wheatley swallowed. Chell squeezed his hand (hard), and gave him a broken smile as if she too were on the verge of tears. “I know, I know.” His voice wavered. “I hate it too. But you'll be okay. You're strong, you've certainly proven that. And you'll be asleep the whole time I’m gone. No one can hurt you. And I’ll be back before you know it.” Chell took a deep breath as she lie back in the pod, and both of them tried not to cry. “It’s okay.”

_ (She believed him.) _

Wheatley hoped that Chell might say something, but she didn’t. She watched him for a moment, smirking a very gentle smirk, then closed her eyes and nodded. Her hand slipped from his, and then the top of the pod closed, and she was gone.

* * *

 

“I love you.”

* * *

 

It worked for a little while.

Wheatley became a test subject, which, while it was dangerous and obviously not his forte, was manageable because he had learned about testing from observing Chell, and had already seen and therefore knew how to solve most of the testing tracks. But because it was dangerous, and because he was bad at it, and because the higher ups of Aperture figured out what he was doing and did not like it, it wasn’t long before dangerous turned to deadly, and testing was no longer an option.

Which didn’t leave him with many.

Wheatley’s regular job (which he was no longer doing) barely managed to pay for his crappy one bedroom apartment (which he was no longer staying in) and takeout. He couldn’t buy Chell’s freedom with that. And as a test subject Wheatley couldn’t leave the facility. And even if he  _ could  _ leave the facility he would have to quit his job at Aperture to find a better job (if he could even do  _ that _ ), and then, if he did that, how would he come back for Chell? Wheatley would have to leave her there, and there was no telling what could happen to her while he was gone. He would be abandoning her. They would never let him back inside the facility.

So, really, sensibly, he was only left with one option.

Medical testing.

Wheatley hadn’t forgotten about his conversation with Henry that night in the infirmary. Portal, button and cube, what-have-you testing was not the worst kind of experimenting Aperture Labs did. This was what he was trying to save Chell from. Becoming more of a human guinea pig than she already was.

The tests started out simply enough, at first. Nothing too extreme. Giving a bit of blood for an experiment here, wearing strange glasses that turned the world upside down and being asked to navigate the room (that one had made him feel both silly and stupid). Having to navigate a giant maze made him feel like an actual lab rat. But the tests went from strange and mildly annoying to painful very quickly. Questionnaires and the occasional blood work turned to experimental medications and injections. Those were bad enough, enough to make him violently sick, but now they wanted to perform some kind of experimental surgery. And especially after hearing the pre recorded message about Aperture’s surgeons “rearranging your insides,” he was highly skeptical. This was stupid, and dangerous. He knew it was stupid and dangerous.

But it would give him the last little bit of money he needed.

And they had promised him, signed a (shabby) contract (written on a napkin) and everything, that it would be the last experiment they made him do. There would be no more after this. He and Chell could go free.

And tragically, and ironically, that tiny little thing he’d joked and asked about before-- the whole, signing the contract without reading the fine print, thing-- he did that.

It didn’t end well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for using Henry lol
> 
> Please review!


	34. Duty

The world was a spinning blurs of white and grey as Wheatley sat up. He didn’t know when, or where, or what he was.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, where there had only ever been darkness, and fog, and a vague sense of Before, there was now clarity so sharp it was painful. He had just realized so many terrible, important things (He had died. Something horrible had happened to him he didn’t know how many years ago. They had Done Something to him, and he had died and it had hurt) — and he didn’t have time to process any of them half as well as they deserved.

But Wheatley managed to focus on the most important one.

Chell.

“I knew her.” He breathed.

It felt like centuries ago (and, God, maybe it was), but the two of them had once come together of their own volition. Not because a nuclear reactor was about to explode. Not because a homicidal supercomputer was trying to kill them. Not because they needed each other to survive. Chell had once chosen to trust him, simply because she considered him a friend. He had earned her trust long before he broke it. He did hear her voice before Her, he just didn’t remember it until now. He was the one who had put her in cryo. It was his fault she had gotten stuck here.

Here.

...Where was—

“You remembered.”

She very nearly sounded surprised, though not half as surprised as Wheatley, who, at the sound of Her voice, jolted back to reality with a bout of fear so strong he choked on thin air.

She ignored this.

“Isn’t it fascinating?” Something darker crept into Her voice, barely repressed anger and aggressive glee. “You gave your life to keep her from dying.”

He was back Here— they were back here because Chell— Chell—

“And then you killed her.”

Wheatley’s world stopped spinning very suddenly.

No. No, no, no, no. It wasn’t true. (Breathe you have to breathe.) It couldn’t be true.

He must’ve misheard her. That was it. That was all it was.

“What?” He choked.

Her gaze was cold, and furious, and almost pitying as Her optic settled on him, and Wheatley wanted to disappear for far too many reasons.

Deafening silence.

No. God, Science, Anything, no. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true, please—

“Well.” She droned. “Almost.”

Wheatley didn’t know that you could be blindsided by a pleasant emotion, like relief. Suddenly he felt light, as if the crushing weight of something…. crushing (maybe years of guilt and months of fear; maybe an actual crusher) had been lifted from his shoulders. His emotions swung from devastated to elated so quickly it was dizzying-- he was crying-- how long had he been crying?

Wheatley fell back onto the floor, folding his arms over his eyes as he laughed and sobbed. He didn’t care that She was watching him— judging him. Chell was okay (Chell was okay. Somehow his crazy, half baked plan had worked and she was okay, she was going to be okay.) and nothing else mattered.

Unless She was lying.

Wheatley froze.

Tricking him into thinking Chell was okay when she really— wasn’t (He couldn’t bring himself to replace that word with any other.)— sounded like something She might do to torment him.

He tried to ask (God, did he really want to know?), sobering as he sat up, but his voice wouldn’t work.

“She’s— Is she—”

“She’s fine, moron. Out of it for now, but fine. She’ll be alright.” She said softly. Again, She almost sounded gentle. “You on the other hand,” And with that all trace of gentleness was gone from her voice, instantly replaced by cold fury. “After what you’ve done, I don’t think you’ll be returning to the surface. To say the least.” Her words turned soft again, but they were chilled. Biting. “And really, there wouldn’t be much point in your returning to the surface. It’s not like the two of you could just pick up where you left off, after this. You nearly killed her, and then you brought her back here, to me. She’s going to hate you. And you deserve it. She’ll be much better off without you.”

Her every syllable felt barbed, like Her words should dig under his skin. But they didn’t, because Wheatley had spent the last several months convincing himself of exactly what She was saying.

“You’re right.” He said. And he didn’t sound sad, or insulted, or anything She had expected: he sounded accepting.

“I’m always right.”

Wheatley took a deep breath and tried to sound brave, tried to be brave.

“She deserves to be free and I don’t, and— even though I swear I don’t mean to— I keep hurting her.” He meant those words with every ounce of his being, and he hoped She knew that as he looked Her in the optic. “So why don’t you keep me here and let her go?”

“Why don’t I?” She gave a bitter huff of laughter. “I let you go once, and this is what I get for my generosity. I punish you for trying to kill her, and you nearly kill her all over again.” Wheatley had to shield his eyes as She came closer, furious yellow light blinding him as Her voice turned deathly soft. “Remember what I said before? I’m not finished with you. Not even close.”

Somehow Wheatley kept his voice from trembling.

“But you’ll let her go?” He repeated.

She sighed, almost longing.

“If I kept her here she could return to testing.” She sounded distant (And there was that voice again, hissing ‘Pieces, Pieces, Pieces-’). Tired. “But she’s earned her freedom, and I have no desire to die a third time.”

Wheatley tried not to look as dazed as he felt (‘Don’t smile, don’t smile, don’t smile.’). His plan really had worked. Chell was safe, and she was going to get to go home, back to Horizon. Her life would go back to normal.

“Which is why, I’m sure you understand, there's only one way you can stay here.” She hummed. At that Wheatley tried not to look as frightened as he felt (‘For Chell. For Chell. Be brave for Chell.’). “You remember how hard it was to let her go. You couldn’t do it.” She said. He definitely did remember that. “She’s the perfect test subject. And she’s too stubborn for her own good.” Wheatley tried not to smile (He had just agreed with Her two times in a row, that couldn’t be good). He knew where this was going. “If I let her go and kept you here, she would come back. And that wouldn’t end well for anyone.”

No it would not.

Wheatley said nothing. He looked up at Her, completely accepting.

Yes. Let Chell go. Keep him Here. Don’t smile. Don’t tremble. Be brave. Be stoic. Be like her.

Oh, She didn’t like that. Why would She?

“Don’t think you’re making some sort of sacrifice. This was your fault. You did this, and now you don’t have a choice. I’m choosing for you.” Her voice turned darker as She glared down at him. “You’re not going to hurt her anymore.”

At that Wheatley did feel guilty, but he also felt something else.

Maybe She never really was their enemy.

He tried to remain stoic as a section of panels rose from the floor, carrying Chell with them.

She hummed.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review!


	35. Range

Wheatley was trying very hard to be brave, and stoic, and as Chell-like as possible, but he couldn’t help but flinch as one of the walls of his cell dropped into the floor. 

 He looked from Chell to Her, certain that this was a trap but uncertain as to how. 

 She shifted, swaying almost imperceptibly.

 “I’ll let you say goodbye.” She said smoothly. “For her sake. Not yours.” 

 Wheatley managed not to run to Chell’s side, but only barely. By the time he reached her he was trembling, overwhelmed with relief, and happiness, and (if he was perfectly honest with himself) fear.

 He remembered that dark room in Horizon where her hand had gone limp in his, and he’d thought he’d never see her again. 

 Now Chell was asleep, breathing steadily, soft and slow, completely at peace and totally unaware of her surroundings. That wouldn’t last for long. 

 But she was okay. She was going to be okay. She would get to return to the surface, to her home and her friends, and live a long happy life. Like she deserved.

 Wheatley carefully took one of Chell’s hands in his own, lingering at her wrist for a moment to catch her pulse. There it was, steady and sure (“And then you killed her.”), and Wheatley nearly cried as he felt it. Chell really was okay. He slid his hand into hers (she was warm, and real, and safe), drawing strength from her presence as he tried to breathe.

 ‘I know it doesn’t feel like it now, believe me, but you’re going to be okay.’

  He stopped trembling. He looked up at Her.

 “Thank you.” He said.

  For once Wheatley didn’t mind the silence.

 He returned his attention to Chell, gently stroking her hand and listening to the soft sound of her breathing. She still looked pale and tired, but she didn’t look fragile anymore. Maybe it was because Wheatley knew that she would be okay now, or maybe it was just seeing her in This Place (where she had never been anything else), but somehow Chell seemed stronger. 

 Wheatley hoped she would sleep for a little while longer. He wanted to see her eyes again, to hear her voice, but he also wanted to spend as much time with her as he could before she was frightened, and hated him, and left. For the moment everything was peaceful, and he wanted that peace to last.

 Then She spoke, and Wheatley wondered who he was kidding.

 “I’ll rearrange some things so we don’t startle her… prematurely.”

 The lights dimmed as a wall of grey panels slid silently from the floor. It still looked like Aperture, but now it was dimmer and She was hidden from view. Wheatley reasoned that (if Chell was groggy enough) that might buy them a little more time.

 Chell’s hand twitched in his.

 He didn’t know whether to be thrilled or panicked, so he settled for both.

 Chell began to stir, wincing as she did so. She made some small noise of complaint as she woke, turning and covering her eyes with her free arm. (For some reason Wheatley found this endearing.) 

 Chell then felt the hand in hers, and remembered that she was never supposed to wake up.

 Her voice came out small and tired.

 “Wheatley?”

 God, he’d thought he’d never hear her voice again.

 “Right here.” Wheatley smiled at her helplessly through tears (‘Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry,’). “I’m right here, love. Just like I promised.” He squeezed her hand. “How do you feel? Feeling any better?”

 She tried to look up at him but only saw a Wheatley shaped blur.

 “Like I’ve been hit by a car.” Chell huffed out a laugh, and was surprised when it didn’t hurt. Wheatley copied her, though his laugh sounded happier, and borderline hysterical. Chell remembered that she should be careful about what she said. “No, I feel better than I did. But we don’t have to tell Michael.” She smirked despite herself, but then she tried for a deep breath and it felt normal, and her smile faded. Something in her voice turned suspicious. “I feel a lot better, actually. I feel... lighter. God, I can breathe again." Chell sat up with little difficulty, and Wheatley fought the urge to stop her. Her vision was blurred and dark, but she could still make out the concerned look on his face. "What happened? What did you do?" Her tone was half joking until she leaned closer, and her eyes went wide. "Are you bleeding?" 

 Suddenly Chell’s hand was in his hair, and Wheatley remembered that he’d hit his head when She’d dropped him. He hissed in pain at her touch, pulling away. Had he hit his head that hard? “Oh my God, you are bleeding!” Now Chell was worrying over him, and Wheatley didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was the least of their problems. “What happened to you? What did--” Chell froze, now fully awake. “Where’s Michael? Where are we?”

 Wheatley heart sank. Chell was too smart. That hadn’t lasted for half as long as he would’ve liked.

 “It doesn't matter.” He took her hands in his, somehow smiling. “You’re okay and I--”

 “Am never going to bother you again.”

 Chell's voice died in her throat as the lights came on to reveal Her hovering over them. Chell looked from Her to Wheatley, first frightened and furious, then utterly betrayed. Wheatley fully expected her to pull away from him, but if anything she held him harder, shoving him behind her as if that would somehow protect him.

 “Welcome back.” She sang, obviously amused as Chell glared at Her. “I know, you’re hardly delighted to see me even after I saved your life. For the second time. But I’ll have you know that none of this is my doing.” She paused. “Are you listening?”

 Chell was not listening. 

 She was looking at Wheatley, hurt, and confused, and afraid as she held his hand too hard. Her voice didn’t work but with her looking at him like that he didn’t have to guess what she was thinking. 

‘Why?’

 Wheatley smiled sadly.

 "You just have to trust me."

 “Listen very carefully.” Her voice was hushed. “I didn't do any of this. I didn't make you sick. I didn't bring you here. I didn't force him into doing this. He did this. He wanted this. All of it.” Wheatley turned pale as a Chell’s gaze shifted to him. “None of this is my doing.” She repeated. “But there's plenty I could have done. There’s plenty I could still do.” She came closer, and both Wheatley and Chell had to shield their eyes from the searing light of Her optic. Her voice was a venomous hiss as She towered over Chell, who glared up at Her, still shielding Wheatley. “I could keep you here. Test you. Kill you. Take your entire town and do the exact same thing with them.” Chell bared her teeth, and her eyes screamed murder. “They’re defenseless, and you are in no condition to fight. Who would stop me? Him?” For a moment Her gaze turned to Wheatley, and then She pulled away, disinterested. “It doesn’t matter. I have no desire to harm your domestic little humans. I’ve watched them for years, and the whole lot wouldn’t last a week down here. They’d all be useless as test subjects.” If Chell’s expression was any indication, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. “You can go back to them now. Stay there this time.” Her voice turned softer. “And remember all the things I could have done instead of this.” 

 Out of nowhere Chell was hoisted into the air by two pairs of arms, and she and Wheatley were ripped apart. The testing bots chirped concertedly as she struggled in their grasp, but their grip was iron, and before she could free herself they dropped her in the lift and the glass closed around her.

 Wheatley wasn’t with her.

 Every moment Chell processed was worse than the one before, because if he wasn’t in the lift he wasn’t coming with her, and if the lift wasn’t moving there was something She wanted her to watch, and it wasn’t hard to guess what when she put those two things together.

 Time seemed to slow, and everything happened too fast.

 Wheatley looked small and impossibly happy as he smiled up at her.

 There was a turret behind him.

 Chell’s voice wouldn’t work. The glass of the lift wouldn’t break no matter how hard she hit it.

 Wheatley knew he should feel guilty as he watched Chell struggle and fight for him, but he didn’t. For once in his life he was certain he’d done something right, and he was happy.

 Wheatley thought of the last thing he wanted to say to her, and it was instant, all too easy. 

 “I--”

_  ‘...Do y—‘ _

_  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ _

 He stopped.

 “I’m sorry.”

 That was easy, too.

 

 There was gunfire and blood, and both of them were gone.

 


	36. Dust

 After the last big fight Chell had faced, her hearing had dissipated at the detination of a bomb that nearly blew her apart. It hadn’t really mattered; she was about to die anyways, she was only missing out on the sounds of betrayal and viciously screaming robots. But then she’d seen the sky and the stars and the moon, and ironically enough, her hearing would have probably disappeared yet again in the vacuum of space. Again, it didn’t really matter.

 She could hear now, but that didn’t matter either. What mattered was that the glass of the lift wouldn’t break no matter how hard she hit it, no matter how many times she struck it. What mattered was that it spat her out onto the surface and Wheatley wasn’t there. He was still down There covered in blood and not moving. What mattered was that the door slammed shut behind her. What mattered was that the sun was far too bright, far too hot on her face, and someone was screaming absolute incoherent nonsense as she pried at the door and begged for it to open when she knew it wouldn’t. What mattered was that her hands were bleeding before someone pinned her from behind and hauled her away. What mattered was that whoever it was that stopped her was saying something that was supposed to calm her down, but she couldn’t hear a word of it. What mattered was that none of it mattered.

 Everything hurt.

 Chell couldn't reach him. Wheatley was right there, only feet in front of her, and she couldn't reach him. She couldn't save him. She should’ve known. She should’ve seen it coming, because  _ the cake was a lie, the cake was a lie, the cake was a lie— _

\-----------------------

 Chell opened her eyes, and she was in her room, in her house. The mattress sank as someone sat next to her, and for a moment Chell hoped beyond hope, hoped beyond reason. She sat up in an instant, her voice frantic.

 “Wheatley?”

 Guilty green eyes looked down at her.

_ Oh _ .

 “Michael.” Chell distantly hoped she didn’t sound as disappointed as she felt, but as everything came crashing back to her that was the least of her problems. Her voice wavered and she hated it. “I don't understand.”

 “It's okay. Calm down.” Michael’s voice was placating (she hated that, too), and his hand on her arm wasn’t nearly as comforting as it should’ve been. “I'll tell you whatever you want to know but you have to promise-- that you'll be reasonable.”

 Chell tried to pretend that her hands weren’t shaking. 

 “Where is he?”

 “Not here.”

_ He looked so guilty. _

 She didn’t care.

 “What do you  _ mean _ not here?” Chell was supposed to sound strong and angry (furious), but her voice broke. “Where is he?”

 “Chell.” Michael’s voice was soft ( _ sorry _ ), and his gaze matched. “He never came back up the shaft. You came up alone.” He stopped. “He told me-”

 “Why were you there?”

 Chell’s words were ice.

 Michael tried for a smile that he didn’t quite reach.

 “It would've been a long walk.” 

 Her eyes were molten. Her voice shook with fury.

 “You did this.”

 He looked so tired.

 “You're going to be reasonable, remember?”

 “We had a  _ deal _ . I lived in that hospital for  _ months _ because you  _ promised _ me you wouldn't let him do this.” Chell’s eyes were so angry, so hurt. Betrayed. “And then you  _ helped _ him?” 

 “Chell—”

 Broken.

 “You  _ took _ him there! You  _ left _ him there!”

 Her eyes were ringed with angry tears, and Michael took one of her shaking hands in his.

 “Do remember what you said, when you told me where you came from?” For a moment Chell looked surprised; they didn’t speak of Those Days very often. “That in a place like that, you can't afford to be angry. You have to be  _ smart _ .” Something in his eyes was urgent. “Right now I need you to be smart, not angry. I know it's hard, because this is about him, but when it comes to that place, you can't let yourself get too emotional or you don't think. And that's when things get messy.”

 Chell yanked away.

 “Things are already messy, because you didn't think!” She froze, her fire replaced by ice in an instant. “How messy?”

 “I don't—”

 “Where are the others?” Chell asked. “How much do they know?”

 Michael looked from her to the window, out to the road beyond.

 “They've always had a… general idea of what's out there.” He said slowly. “They know that’s where you went. That you're going to be okay now, but that— there was a price.” Michael managed a small smile. “They're all safe. All accounted for.” 

 Chell’s eyes were empty as they met his.

 “Not all of them.”

_  (So guilty.) _

 “I'm sorry.”

_  (So hurt.) _

 “Not sorry enough!” 

 “‘Shell--” 

 “Don't!”

 “He  _ knew _ .” Chell hated how soft his voice was, how gentle. “He knew this was going to happen, and he didn't care. He only wanted you to be okay.” 

 She was silent for a long time, but then:

 “I have to go back.”

 Michael looked horrified.

_  “Why?” _

 Chell glared at him, incredulous.

_  “Why?” _

 “ _ Reasonable _ .” Michael said. Somehow he looked exasperated and sympathetic at the same time. “Chell, he did what he did so that you could get out. If you go back, everything he did will have been for nothing.” He looked so guilty, so  _ sorry _ , like he knew his words would hurt her because they needed to. “ _ He’s not there.  _ There’s no point.” 

_ No point. _

 No one person at fault, no one person Chell could fight, no one person she could save.

 Just one person gone, and nothing she could do.

 For so long Chell had tried to be stoic and brave,  _ strong _ , but now it felt like she was breaking in half, and she finally let herself break. 

 She sobbed brokenly, furiously. Michael held her as she cried, and she struggled halfheartedly, but he took it and didn’t let go. Chell was so sick of feeling helpless. She hated herself for crying, and she hated Michael for holding her, and she hated herself for letting him hold her and she  _ hated, hated, hated.  _

 Wheatley was  _ gone _ . The blue of his eyes was gone, the sound of his voice was gone, his smile was gone, he was gone. Chell was never going to see him again. She would never hear his voice again, never hear him read to her or ramble on about everything and nothing. There would be no more falling asleep next to him, no more cooking shenanigans, no more watching him explore the surface, no more reading sessions, no more cuddling, no more laughter. Chell would never even get to tell him--

 God, they couldn’t even have a proper  _ funeral _ .

 “Hey,” Michael smoothed a hand between Chell’s shoulder blades as she sobbed, and it felt comforting and  _ wrong _ . “You’re okay now. You’re gonna be okay.” She met his eyes, and somehow he actually seemed to believe what he was saying. “Sam’s already looked you over. Says you’re in perfect health. You’re free to stay here if you want, or come back to the hospital if you’d rather have some company. She ordered me to stick around for a few days, just to keep an eye on you. But you’re gonna be okay. Okay?”

 Chell didn’t answer. She stared at the window with glassy eyes, watching the dust dance in shafts of light. 

_ Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. _

 She was not okay.

 -----------------------

 In her early days in Horizon, Chell spent a lot of time thinking about ghosts. At the time the ghosts she thought about were fairly far removed from her (physically speaking at least): they were orbiting the moon or miles underground, voices that no one would ever hear again, demons down under the sea. But now her house was filled with ghosts. These were much closer and not so easily labeled as bad or good. 

 She saw them as she sat up in the darkness of her room (Chell had become nocturnal as of late. Michael would wake her for meals but neither he nor Sam could argue that sleep wasn’t good for her after everything she’d been through— and it kept her from having to face visitors.): she and Wheatley cuddling where she now sat, sleeping without a care in the world. Her on one side of the door, coughing up blood and trying not to break, him on the other, begging her to tell him what was wrong. The two of them fighting, yelling, sobbing, and then stumbling to the living room to sleep again.

 Chell moved through these ghosts as she rose from bed, making her way through the hall as silently as possible.

 At the sight of Wheatley’s door (closed, of course), she bit the inside of her mouth until she tasted blood. The sight of hers was no better.

 How many times had he sat outside her door, begging and pleading for her to come out. What was the matter? Why couldn’t she tell him what was wrong? Whatever it was, he could help. He’d do anything to help her if she would just tell him what was wrong.

 And that was why she hadn’t. 

 Back in the living room Michael was splayed out on the couch, snoring. Chell’s mouth twitched instinctively at the sound, but she kept herself from smiling: she was still mad at him. He had been hovering for days now, both because he was worried about Chell and because Ruth was… annoyed with him. She knew where Michael had gone and what he had done and the danger of it, and though she was relieved that both he and Chell were okay, she wasn’t thrilled with Michael. 

 Chell wasn’t thrilled with him either.

 She told herself that she didn’t want him here, hovering and pestering her, but if (when) he left it would just be her and her empty, silent house (she used to love the silence, she ruefully remembered when it had disappeared, and she’d wished for it to return), and she wasn’t ready for that, either. 

 The ghosts in the living room were more bittersweet than those in her room and the hall: she and Wheatley curled up together on the couch, reading a book or watching a movie, or sleeping in front of fire. Him taking care of her when she was sick; her taking care of him when he was new.

 The kitchen was full of mischief: cooking disasters and shenanigans so bizarre that even Chell had been too shocked to do anything but laugh. There were water fights when dish washing had gone array (she was surprised he’d gone along with that), day long baking sessions during their first (and last) Christmas together, countertops covered in flour and sprinkles, frosting and cookie dough. The warm lull of the countertop radio in the background of it all, watching the snow drift to the ground outside the window.  

 Chell sat at Michael’s feet on the couch, and thought about time. 

 Time travel, if such a thing did or ever would exist, depended as much on space as it did time. Because even if you were in the right time, if you were in the wrong place, it was pointless. 

 Chell was in the right place now— Wheatley had spent countless afternoons sitting next to her in this exact spot— but she was in the wrong time. It hurt to know that he had been in every place she could see. It hurt that Chell had to keep seeing these places, keep remembering that he had been there and never would be again. It was like he was right in front of her but too far away to reach. All that was left were his ghosts, and she was becoming one, too.

——— 

 Chell had memories that weren’t hers.

 She had vivid dreams of a younger version of herself face to face with a younger version Wheatley, the two of them divided by a glass wall. Of seeing the surface for the first time-- but not after her escape from there-- with him by her side, smiling at her helplessly as he watched her stare open mouthed at the stars. There were gaps in the memories-- they were sporadic and dark after that night on the surface-- and before Wheatley appeared they were almost nonexistent.

 It was surreal.

 Chell had never remembered anything before waking up to Her voice all those years ago, to what she had assumed was her first round of testing. But ever since she’d returned home new memories were materializing out of nowhere. The darkness she’d searched through for so long was suddenly coming to light, and in light of recent events it was both painful and pleasant. 

 She had known Wheatley Before. They had known each other before that place twisted them into what they were now. When they were still young and naive, before they had used each other for their own selfish gains. They had really been friends, once. There was a time when they genuinely cared about one another. When they were the only people who cared about each other. 

 It made thinking of what came afterward even harder.

———

 Chell stared at the ceiling and remembered that  _ the cake was a lie, the cake was a lie, the cake was a lie. _

 It was something Chell had ingrained in herself since she first arrived in Horizon, because (in her mind, at least) those words were about so much more than cake. 

 In That Place, anything pleasant was a lie. Trust was a lie. Friends were a lie. Safety was a lie. A promise was a lie. 

 And so Chell knew that— even on the surface, even in her freedom— happiness, and safety, and love, wouldn’t mean the same thing to her as they would to others. Those things would be a danger to her and anyone she was close to when she finally established her new life, because, like the phrase itself, she was from There. 

 Even after three years of peace Chell couldn’t shake the feeling that, (if ever She wanted to) if She couldn’t drag her Back of her own will, She would take someone Chell loved and make them both suffer. No one close to Chell was safe.

 When she and Wheatley first... became close, Chell wondered if things might be different with him. He was from There, too. Which meant that her growing closer to him shouldn’t endanger him anymore than he already was. But he confessed so soon, when things were still early and complicated, and no matter what she felt Chell couldn’t get that image out of her mind, of him suffering at Her hands because of her.

 When he said I love you, it said  _ impossible _ .  _ Irrelevant _ . No matter what Chell wanted or how badly she wanted it, they were from There, and the cake was a lie.

 Chell thought back to the night Wheatley stole her books, and everything he’d said about her was true. Voluntarily or not, she had held onto so many terrible things from that place-- her stubbornness being the most prominent. Thinking about that scared Chell, because it was such an important part of her. She didn’t give up. It was who she was. And it was only who she was because of Aperture. It made her wonder where That Place ended and she began. The part of her most rooted in That Place, the part that kept her stoic and unfeeling and constantly reminded her that the cake was a lie, knew that there was no reason to even imagine seeing Wheatley again. That doing so would only hurt her. That it was completely illogical.

 But still she leafed through the book of poems, still she remembered, still she read:

_ ‘Hope is the thing with feathers - _

_ That perches in the soul - _

_ And sings the tune without the words - _

_ And never stops - at all…’ _

 


	37. Below

Wheatley lay on the floor of Her chamber and tried very hard to think solid, non-leaky thoughts as he clutched at his side and felt blood. He tried to stay still, but he couldn’t breathe (hopefully the wind had just been knocked out of him). Everything hurt, and he couldn’t help but squirm in attempt to find a position where things didn’t feel quite so terrible.

“Oh please,” She rolled her optic as She watched him writhe on the floor. “Don’t be so dramatic. You got what you wanted. She’s free.” Wheatley closed his eyes. “And she thinks you’re dead. So she’s not coming back. Which means I get what I wanted, too. Everyone wins! Isn’t that right?”

There was a flash of red light, and pain. Searing, white hot pain.

Wheatley screamed.

“Oops.” She said gleefully. “I always forget how sensitive to pain you humans can be. Fragile little things. But I’m sure you’ll agree, I can’t have you bleeding all over my floor. Really, I’ve just done you a favor.” Her voice turned sticky sweet. “What do you say, moron?”

He grit his teeth.

“Thank— you.”

“That’s the third favor I’ve done for you today.” She mused. “But don’t worry. I know just what you can do to repay me.”

Wheatley yelped as the floor opened up, and he fell, and fell, and fell. The last time he had been Here, on That Day, She had said something about a fall as a punishment. Now he fell until the light from Her chamber disappeared, until there was nothing but him and darkness and gravity, the wind rushing by in his ears and the ever present thought of the word splat.

This was it. She’d decided to drop him down an elevator shaft with no long fall boots, just like he’d done to Chell. Wheatley didn’t bother to scream (he deserved this), but he couldn’t help the high pitched whine that escaped his throat.

He was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die—

Then, as suddenly as he’d started falling, he stopped. Wheatley opened his eyes (he hadn’t realized he’d closed them) to find he was surrounded by a pale blue light. He reasoned that it must’ve been an excursion funnel. The world was still pitch black beyond.

There was something almost numbing about the languid movement of the funnel, but even as he calmed Wheatley knew that if She wasn’t going to kill him it was because She was going to do something worse.

“I’ve thought long and hard over this.” Her voice echoed around him as he fell, slow and sadistically gleeful, and Wheatley wondered what the darkness was hiding. “I could put you through everything you did to her. Drop you down an elevator shaft. Force you to test while her voice screams insults at you. Shoot you into space as a human.” Wheatley screwed his eyes shut, though the view wasn’t much different. “I could transfer you back to your core. Shut you down and give you your own black box feature, replaying the worst moments of your life, endlessly. Or I could keep you online and disassemble you piece by piece, rebuild you, and repeat until your parts give out. Better yet, I could put you in an infinite transfer loop from your core to your human body.” Wheatley shuddered. He honestly didn’t know which of those would be the worst. “But I’m feeling generous today. So I’ve settled for something a bit more… psychological.”

And then there was light.

Wheatley blinked, blinded, shielding his eyes and expecting something murderous and deadly to leap out at him from the whiteness at any moment. Then, when his vision returned, and he lowered his hands, he saw--

Nothing.

It was just… a regular room. Though it wasn’t nearly as pristine as Her chamber had been: plants grew in the cracks between filthy, crumbling panels, and water dripped from the ceiling into a rather nasty looking pool where the floor drooped.

“It’s a mess, isn’t it?” She said. “Three years— almost four— have passed since you took your little joy ride with my facility, and I still haven’t managed to undo all the damage.” He found that hard to believe at around the same time Her voice became defensive. “Make no mistake— I could fix it if I really wanted to— and it is fully operational, but it isn’t… perfect. Not like it was. But I’ve had more…  important matters to attend to, as of late.” She hummed. “So you’re going to fix it.”

The funnel blinked out of existence, and Wheatley plummeted to the ground below, landing hard with a fresh bout of pain.

“What?” He choked.

She ignored him.

“You remember the nanobot crew whose worksite you destroyed all those years ago?” She asked. Wheatley blinked up at the ceiling (was that the angry buzzing he was hearing?). “Well, they certainly remember you. And they know you made this mess, too, so they really love you.” She sounded entirely too cheerful. “You wanted a position of power? You’re in charge of cleaning up the mess you made. And while you’re at it you’ll return my surveillance to every inch of this area. Now, I know you have no idea what you’re doing, but the nanobots should help. You’ll tell them what to do, and if you ruin everything like you always do, you’ll start over. Your co-workers will be thrilled, I’m sure.” Wheatley could hear the metaphorical smile in Her voice. “When you finish here you’ll move on to the next floor. And the next one, and the next one, and the one after that. On and on and on, all the way down to the bottom of the facility, back to the end of the godforsaken elevator shaft you left her to die in. Then you get to restore my control to the very roots of the facility, where you’ll clean up the chemicals you nearly killed her with.” Wheatley closed his eyes and resigned to lay on the floor for a little bit longer. He felt like he belonged there. “And every time you finish a task, and you feel that tiny spark of pride and joy, I want you to remember something. You’re going down. With every new project you’ll be descending deeper and deeper into the facility, farther from the sun, and the sky, and the grass, and the dirt. Farther from the surface. Farther from freedom. Farther from her.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re never going to see her again. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Now get to work.”

 


	38. Give

_ “Please?” _

Chell’s living room was filled with children making puppy dog eyes, and she was very tired.

They were here (as they had been everyday since she’d returned, and would be everyday in the foreseeable future) in an attempt to get her out of the house. This shouldn’t have been a problem considering that the house was empty and silent and rather depressing. It  _ was _ however, because Chell currently found the rest of the world to be far worse.

The surface no longer held the grandeur it once had. Chell would come to love it again one day, she knew, but for now leaving home meant facing Elizabeth’s house without her in it, and the sight of the wheat fields and far worse beyond. Even the color of the sky hurt her eyes.

She had been spoiled by three years of peace only to have everything she loved snatched away all at once. Too much had happened too quickly, and Chell wasn’t ready to face it all just yet.

And so, to the children she loved so dearly, and to the world she’d once loved just as much, she refused.

“Not today.”

They drooped.

“But that’s what you said yesterday.”

( _ And the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that…) _

Auburn looked up at her with pitiful blue eyes, and Chell had to look away.

The children exchanged nervous glances. They knew the situation was bad when they were happy to  _ hear  _ Chell refuse: she was getting to the point where she rarely spoke anymore.

“Are you sure? It’s gonna be fun.”

They continued making their case, as they always did, but their eyes were more worried than enthusiastic. They spoke to her in the tones their parents used to use on them.

“Mom’s making a big picnic lunch, and we’re bringing a cooler with _ ice cream _ .” Jeffery sang.

“Yeah!” Danni smiled, “And we’re gonna go fishing, and swimming, and we’re gonna gang up on Michael and push him in the lake!”

Jake smirked.

“You don’t wanna miss  _ that _ , do you?”

Chell smiled, soft and sad, and their hearts sank at the sight of it. The light didn’t reach her eyes. She hadn’t really smiled since before she’d come back.

Chell felt a little guilty as she watched the children leave, but she knew they would be back again tomorrow.

* * *

 

For an omniscient supercomputer, there were quite a lot of things that GLaDOS did not understand.

Her former test subject was acting strangely.

When she had first been freed, as soon as she was able she was out and about every day, exploring the surface and interacting with her fellow humans. She still had fire, still had that stubborn spark in her eyes, but with her freedom she used it to make the most of everyday for herself and her little town.

Now she rarely left her home.

It made no sense. She shouldn’t be sick. She had just healed her— her health should’ve been pristine, and yet in the month since she’d been freed for the second time, she had only left her home twice.

And if her strange behavior wasn’t because of her health...

“Ah,” She purred, returning her attention to her newest toy. Thus far he had managed to repair one floor of the facility to Her standards. Now he was trying to figure out where to start on the next one. “I knew you would reach the wing of glass eventually. Unfortunately, thanks to you and your…  _ former _ cohort… it’s now the wing of broken glass.” She paused. “Did you know, this section of the facility used to house the botanical gardens? They’ve been a tad neglected as of the past, oh, century.” Her voice turned softer. Darker. “Be careful down there. Those plants aren’t like the ones up on the surface. They move. And bite.” Even She could hear the smile in Her voice. “Anyways, have fun sweeping up fifteen acres of broken glass surrounded by poisonous plants.”

_ Oh _ , that was too fun.

But, back to business: if  _ she  _ was acting strangely and it wasn’t because she was sick, it must be because she missed the little idiot.

She had expected her former test subject to become somewhat attached to the moron, but (even if she was brain damaged) she wasn’t stupid. Surely she realized she was better off without him. For God’s sake, he had tried to  _ kill  _ her-- he nearly had. All he ever did was talk, and cling, and need, and he was a constant reminder of every bad thing she had been through. Really, she should be  _ happy  _ he was gone. She shouldn’t miss him. She shouldn’t be grieving.

Maybe she just needed time to adjust. After all, if there was one thing she was good at it was adapting; if she was sad, she would simply have to adapt again. She would move on eventually. She always did.

* * *

 

“What if we let  _ you  _ pick where we go?”

After nearly four months of asking Chell to leave with them every day, the children of Horizon had gotten her to leave the house maybe as many as times. They were now becoming desperate. They were  _ worried  _ about her. Everyone was worried about her. They had expected Chell to get better over time, and instead it seemed like she was getting worse.

Jake was especially worried. He remembered the days when Chell was new to town, when she was broken, and sicker than anyone he’d ever seen. But even then she was _ strong _ . Michael liked to tell people she’d kicked him clean over when they’d found her. Don’t have pity on her, he’d say. She’s a fighter. She doesn’t need it.

Even when she’d looked frail, the stubborn light in her eyes could rival the sun. Even when she could hardly walk, she would find a way to sneak outside. Chell  _ loved _ the surface. As soon as she was well enough she explored the outdoors with an almost childlike sense of wonder. She wanted to see everything there was to see. She wanted to learn everything there was to learn. For the longest time she’d wanted to leave Horizon because of that curiosity; it wasn’t big enough for her.

Now there was no light in her eyes. Now she wouldn’t go outside. Now it seemed she had deemed Horizon too big.

“What if we stay here with you?” Jake asked softly. “We don’t have to do anything. We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. We can just… be here.”

Chell frowned, weary, but she could think of no logical reason to say no to this. The company might be nice, and if she didn’t have to speak, or go outside…

She wasn’t sure who was more surprised when she nodded.

After a moment of dazed silence (apparently the children hadn’t expected that to work, either) Chell sat down on the couch in the front room, unsure of what to do. Auburn and Jake sat on either side of her; Jeffery and the twins settled on the floor.

Jake was the first to lean against her.

It hadn’t happened in a long time, but it felt familiar: there had been a time when Chell was practically his mother, and this kind of comfort (the kind that didn’t involve talking about, ie breaking down over what was wrong) was good for both of them. He slumped against her gently, his head lulling against her shoulder, and Auburn copied him at Chell’s other side. At her feet the twins leaned against her legs, and Jeffrey turned so that he could squeeze one of her hands. She was surrounded. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“We’re sorry, Chell.” Auburn murmured.

At the sound of her voice Chell pictured two pairs of blue eyes, and closed her own.

“He wouldn’t want you to be sad.” Jake said softly.

Chell released a shaking breath.

She didn’t cry like they expected her to. She sat there with her eyes closed, still and silent, and focused on the fact that she could breathe.

* * *

 

Wheatley wrung his hands as he looked up at Her. She had summoned him to Her chamber without telling him why, and so his mind supplied the most terrible reasons it could think of: something had happened to Chell; She was going to launch some kind of attack on Horizon; She was going to kill him or worse.

She didn’t look happy. She swayed back and forth as if agitated, and the look She gave him was somewhere between pensive and angry as he stepped out of the lift.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve brought you here.” She said.

“So you can kill me?” Wheatley asked. He knew he wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but that seemed like the obvious answer.

“No, actually.” He blinked. “I know, I’m as surprised as you are. But as I was watching you work just now, I realized something. I don’t need you. Everything you’re doing I can do myself, and I can do it  _ better _ . So there’s no point in your being here.”

“But you said you weren’t going to kill me.” Wheatley reminded Her.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Her voice was distant. “You know, I’ve been keeping an eye on the two of you these past few months, and I’ve noticed something.” She paused. “I am the world's largest collection of data. I know more than any human could ever hope to. And there are two things that I have known for over three years with unshakable certainty.” Now the look She gave him was decidedly a glare. “You are  _ selfish _ . She is fiercely independent. Of all the beings I have ever encountered, I thought for certain that the two of you were the least capable of change.” Her voice turned softer. Almost bitter. “But you have changed. You risked your life to help her. And she--” She stopped. “I thought she would be better off without you. Even  _ you  _ thought she would be better off without you. But it seems that somewhere in that twisted little mind of hers she became rather attached to you, and she isn’t the same now. I think she misses you.” She fought the urge to roll Her optic at the shocked expression on the little idiots face. “It’s actually kind of funny when you think about it. My keeping you away from her to keep her safe ended up hurting her. Go figure.”

Wheatley felt something a lot like hope as he started up at Her and tried not to smile.

“What are you saying?”

She knew what it was like to have someone use her under the guise of loving her. She knew what it was like to love someone who was selfish, how it felt to constantly put their needs ahead of her own. She knew that before things had gone truly, terribly wrong, she had still been happy, had still thought that love was real. But now She wasn’t so sure. Now She wondered what she could have done for herself if she’d only gotten free. Now She’d thought She could save someone else from the same fate.

But this was different.

This wasn’t about science, or greatness, or profit, this was about things She knew She would never truly understand: books, and stargazing, and laughter. The test subject had already lived her life without the moron, and decided she liked it better with him in it. She didn’t tolerate abuse of any kind— she never had— and she could handle herself.

She shook Her head.

“I’m done interfering in the lives of humans. You can go now.”

“But why would you-” Wheatley gaped, disbelieving, at the lift in front of him and the notion of it traveling  _ up _ . This had to be a trap. There had to be a catch. “You don't want anything?” He asked.

“Of course I do.” And apparently that had been a particularly stupid question, because She actually gave a little laugh. “I want her to be happy.”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get some reviews for my birthday? ;)


	39. Reciprocity

 Summer had come and gone, and the world around Chell wilted with the colors of fall. She longed for winter. The cold better suited her mood, and paired with the snow would provide an excuse to stay hauled up at home. 

 As it was she rarely went farther than the steps of the front porch.

 The children tried to help.

 They made every excuse to drag Chell out of the house, or else to visit her, as did everyone else.

Most days she found a reason to stay home, but sometimes the quiet or the loneliness got to her, and she oblogied. Today the children had brought her to the farm. The puppy that had scared her half to death all those months ago had grown up to her knees, and spent the afternoon racing between her and the children before settling at Chell’s feet. The air was cool and crisp. The trees were weighed down with apples, and she watched the children retrieve them with a bittersweet smile. 

 Out of habit her gaze was torn between the present and the past— or maybe the future. She kept one eye on the wheat fields whenever she could. She didn’t know what she was looking for, or what she would do if or when it came. But still she watched.

 “Hey Chell, think fast!”

 She caught the apple Daniel tossed her purely out of reflex, and smiled at the surprised expression on his face. She may not be  _ quite _ as fearsome as she once was (not yet, at least), but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be if she wanted to. 

 “Whoa,” Auburn breathed. She had climbed to the top of one of the apple trees to take in the view, but the wonder in her expression was accompanied by something else as she pointed towards the fields. “Do you see that?”

 Chell was on her feet in an instant, hopes and fears kicking up her heart rate, but she didn’t see anything. A few of the other children scrambled into nearby trees to share Auburn’s view, and their reactions were similar to hers: hopeful disbelief.

 “Is that—”

 “It can’t be—”

 Chell made for the road, and that was when she saw it.

_ Orange _ .

 Chell ran. 

 Someone more practical than her yelled, “Get Sam! Get Michael!” and they wouldn’t have said that unless they saw a  _ person _ . She didn’t know who or what it was  _ (Hope is the thing with feathers) _ — all she had seen was a speck of orange in a sea of wheat  _ (That perches in the soul) _ — but friend or foe, she would meet it head on before it reached Horizon  _ (And sings the tune without the words) _ . Chell was done feeling frightened and helpless  _ (And never stops) _ . This was either someone to help or something to fight, and she would gladly face either one  _ (At all) _ .

 She ran faster. 

 There was nothing but wheat in this direction, and while in theory that should make it easier for Chell to find what she was looking for, she didn’t see anything else. If her voice worked she would call to whatever might be out there, and maybe get an answer, but of course it didn’t. 

 None of that stopped her.

 She ignored the sting of the wheat against her skin. She ran until her lungs burned, and even then she only stopped because she tripped.

 Over something that yelped.

 Laying at Chell’s feet was a heap of lanky limbs and Aperture orange. Blue eyes met grey (neither one had ever thought they’d see that exact shade again), and Chell froze inside and out, attempting to process more emotions than she knew what to do with.

 Wheatley looked up at her as if he had expected to see her there, as if it could be no one else. He looked pitiful, and dirty, and weak, but somehow he was still smiling.

 He gave a shaky laugh at Chell’s expression, which was one of total, open shock.

 “We have got to stop meeting like this.” 

 The sound of his voice was enough to snap Chell out of her reverie. She choked out a shocked little laugh of her own, and in one swift motion she yanked him to his feet and into a hug, and they nearly fell over again. She held Wheatley too tight (because he was  _ alive  _ and  _ real  _ and this proved it), shaking with half hysterical laughter until tears streaked down her face, and then she was sobbing from happiness, which she hadn’t known was something that could happen.

 There were so many things she wanted to tell him but the words wouldn’t come out ( _ Stupid, useless voice--) _ , and even if they did there weren’t enough words; words weren’t enough. Chell tried to catch her breath as Wheatley traced gentle patterns onto her back, nuzzling into the crook of his neck before pulling away enough so she could see him.

 His heart ached at the sight of her eyes, ringed with tears, and so he didn’t notice the sudden light in them.

 “It’s okay, love. I’m right here. I’m s--”

 Chell kissed him, putting all words to shame, and Wheatley fell for a very different reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that better? ;)
> 
> One more chapter left after this one. Please review!


	40. Chapter 40

 The first thing Wheatley noticed when he opened his eyes was that Chell was sitting next to him. 

 They were back at the hospital in Horizon, and she was sitting next to what used to be her bed in what used to be his chair. Wheatley took a moment to appreciate the irony of this, along with several other things: the fact that he was (alive and)  _ in  _ a bed, and the lovely expression on Chell’s face. 

 She looked enraptured, her head tilted and her brow creased in thought as she read by the glow of the lamplight. She seemed focused, but relaxed. Wheatley hadn’t seen Chell look so peaceful since before she’d gotten sick. He watched her for awhile before debating over whether or not he should try to get her attention. 

 There was no one else around. He thought he’d heard other people earlier, but now it was just the two of them here with the door closed. He wasn’t sure why that felt important but it did. 

 Wheatley was also very  _ tired _ (which made no sense because he’d just woken up). He reasoned that he could probably go back to sleep and Chell wouldn’t notice, but he wanted to talk to her, and that won out.

 “Hello.” His voice came out a little softer than he meant for it to, but it was still enough to make Chell jump. She gave a little huff of laughter as she looked up, then smiled as her eyes met his. Wheatley turned pink. “Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt, or startle you or anything.” He wrung his hands, staring up at her and trying to think something to say. “Are you okay?”

 She looked more than okay. 

 Her eyes were bright and her color had come back. She looked strong, and mischievous, and too smart for her own good. But she also looked cautious. Instead of really answering his question Chell smiled and shook her head, dubious, as if scolding him.

 “Are  _ you  _ okay?” She asked.

 Wheatley started to say ‘Define okay,’ but he stopped himself. Physically he felt pretty rotten: everything hurt and he felt sick and exhausted, but mentally he was  _ ecstatic _ . Couldn’t be better. Chell was  _ safe _ and he was back in Horizon with her. What had been the odds of that happening?

 But he couldn’t exactly say that, either, so he settled for

 “I’ll live.”

 Chell smiled at him, warm and affectionate, and Wheatley smiled back, lopsided and confused. There was that  _ feeling _ again, that ticklish blooming sensation somewhere in his chest, and it reminded him of something else. Something he wasn’t sure had actually happened.

 “Sooo,” Wheatley started, sinking down into the mattress, “Where exactly would you say we’re… at right now? Because I know I’m a little out of it and everything, but I could’ve sworn that, uh, before I took that little nap there, you— kissed me.” Chell’s expression was intrigued but not particularly telling. Wheatley scrambled. “Which is okay if it didn’t happen! Because, you know, when I thought about the very slim possibility of ever seeing you again, that was nowhere near the reaction I expected.” He turned red as she smirked. “And neither was that.” He said blankly, fighting the urge to smile. “What’s that smile about, lady? What’re you up to?”

 At that Chell’s smirk turned coy. She closed her book, leaving it in the chair as she climbed into bed next to him.

“Oh.” Wheatley managed.

 Chell’s smirk faded to something more gentle as she settled next to him, carefully taking his hands in hers. A little laugh escaped him as she did this, nervous and bubbly, and he found himself inching backward as she came closer, smiling all the while. The light in Chell’s eyes was timid and brave, and Wheatley froze, hopeful and terrified as they met his.

 Her voice was soft, and her words made it even more beautiful.

 “I love you.” She said.

 And then she kissed him. 

 It was soft and slow, and Wheatley was too surprised to do anything other than melt against her, his eyes fluttering shut as Chell’s hands tangled gently in his hair. His hands slid to her waist seemingly of their own accord, pulling her closer, and he felt her smile before they broke apart. 

 Chell sat back, giving him room to breathe. She was a lovely shade of pink while Wheatley was  _ red _ , and the two of them exchanged a sheepish, helpless smile.

 Wheatley tried to find his voice (something he’d rarely had trouble with before), but there were tears in his eyes and he couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. He’d thought he’d never hear Chell say that. He’d thought she would never trust him enough to do that. And now he was just so grateful, and happy, and shocked, he didn’t know what to say.

 Wheatley choked out a laugh through tears.

 “I love you, too.”

 Chell laid back beside him, smiling brilliantly, and he wrapped an arm around her as her head lulled against his shoulder. She hummed contentedly as they shifted closer together, and Wheatley still couldn’t believe that any of this was happening. He had almost forgotten how nice it was to hold her.  

 “I have for awhile now.” Chell admitted. Her voice was low. “But at first I didn’t understand it, and then I got sick and I didn’t want to hurt you any worse than I already had to.” Wheatley closed his eyes and held her harder. “And then I thought I lost you. I was so scared.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck as her voice wavered. “You were gone for months. I thought— I really thought you were gone. I thought I would never get to tell you.”

 “I’m sorry.” Wheatley murmured. Chell nudged him, frowning, and he realized his mistake. “I’m— I mean. I’m not! Gone, that is. Look! Hello!” He waved at her, smiling a little too brightly. Hers was much more timid as she peeked up at him. “I’m right here. Very solid and alive, and vocal. About both of those things. If it makes you feel better I’ll keep talking for the rest of my life. You’ll never have a moment of peace ever again.”

 She nuzzled him, her face hidden once again, and Wheatley swore he could feel her smile.

 “Good.”

 “I missed you, too.” He said softly. “And… I’m glad you did. Tell me.” Wheatley felt his face turn red as his head came to rest atop hers. “I love you, too. But you already knew that, didn’t you? I never stopped. Even when you told me to.” He remembered where they were (she had almost  _ died _ in this room), and it felt like too much. He swallowed. “I wanted to tell you again. I tried, but I thought— It seemed wrong.” Wheatley smiled wryly, holding up his hand which now had a tube in the back of it. “But now we’ve switched.” 

 “You’ll live.” Chell reminded him. The light in her eyes was almost teasing, but she took his hand with all the gentleness he’d once used to take hers. “You need some fluids, and food, and rest, but you’re going to be okay.” 

 Well, that was a relief.

 “And you’re already okay?” Wheatley asked. He knew it seemed silly to her, but the last time he’d seen her she’d still looked sick, and when he’d asked her a minute ago she hadn’t really answered him.

 Chell smiled, squeezing his hand.

 “I am now.”

 Something in his chest fluttered pleasantly.

 “And you’re not mad at me?” Wheatley winced. 

 Maybe that had been a stupid question.

 “I  _ should _ be.” Chell said pointedly. Her expression was close to one of her warning looks, but something about it was a little more teasing.

 “Which means you’re  _ not _ .” Wheatley half boasted, half asked.

 “But I  _ should _ be.” Chell repeated. She relented when she saw the grin on his face, sleepy and utterly adoring. “We’ll talk about it later.” She said.

 Wheatley knew that was Chell for ‘You’re still in trouble.’

 So he was surprised when she ran a hand through his hair, her voice turning softer. 

 “You should go back to sleep.” 

 “Only if you will, too.” Wheatley hummed, leaning into her touch. “Don’t make me steal your book.”

 Chell smiled to herself as she turned out the light, and fought the urge to shake her head.

 “Stubborn.”

 

* * *

 

 Chell and Wheatley sat on the couch, curled up together under a pile of blankets. They had been home for several days now, and they’d spent most of that time cuddling, and talking, and lounging to the drum of the rain on the roof. When the weather cleared they would go on an outing with the town’s children, but for now they enjoyed the calm of each other's company.

 “I still can’t believe you cut your hair.” Wheatley lamented, running his fingers through what was left of Chell’s hair.

 Claire had called it a pixie cut. It was shorter than Chell had ever worn her hair, but it was different,  _ freeing _ , and she liked it. After she’d Returned for the second time everything felt out of her hands, and so she’d changed one of the few things she could still control.

 Chell smiled at him teasingly.

 “You don’t like it?” She asked.

 “I didn’t say that!” Wheatley said, insulted at the idea that he would ever insult her. “It’s just—” He gestured vaguely. “No more ponytails.”

 Chell nodded, something in her expression turning a little more solemn. 

 “That’s the idea.” She said.

 Wheatley watched as she returned to scanning through the book of poems, looking for something he imagined she’d know when she saw it. 

 Every time he looked at her he was reminded of how lucky he was. Lucky that she was safe, lucky that she forgave him, lucky that she loved him. Lucky that he was here with her again. Wheatley was the luckiest person on Earth, and all because of her.

 He nuzzled her gently, and Chell felt much the same way.

 She knew that soon they would need to talk about more complicated things: memories, and emotions, and past decisions neither one of them had any right to make— but they would make it through all of that because they had made it through everything else. For now Chell was content to think of Spring. She thought of the future, of gardens, and smiled at the book in her lap.

“New feet within my garden go,

New fingers stir the sod;

A troubadour upon the elm

Betrays the solitude.

New children play upon the green,

New weary sleep below;

And still the pensive spring returns,

And still the punctual snow...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
> (For now, at least.)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around through that massive hiatus, thank you to everyone who read, and if you left reviews and or bought me a coffee you have my eternal gratitude. Thank you all so much. I’m more grateful than I can put into words.
> 
> Once again, I’d like to give a huge thank you to The_Pie_Is_A_Lie and mango-sass for betaing. Thank you to wheatleyandchell (faroutfangirl) for your constant support (and live-blogging this entire fic!!). Thank you to the portal writer’s discord and everyone who’s listened to me fight with and rant about Pieces over the years. And thank you, thank you, thank you to those of you who stuck around through my many hiatuses to read this ending. You have been so patient and kind, and your support has meant the world. Thank you!
> 
> As some of you may know, Pieces was originally supposed to be 64 chapters long, and was cut down to 40. I’ve already gotten several comments asking for a sequel to Pieces. While I appreciate the sentiment, I seriously doubt that will happen. I started working on Pieces in 2015 and just finished it this year, so I’m ready to work on other things. I will, however, write more drabbles for the Pieces-verse, and maybe one day you’ll get to see some of those cut chapters.
> 
> Until then, I’m happy to talk with you guys and answer any questions you might have. Thanks again! ^^


End file.
